Family Secrets
by JoannaLee
Summary: Warning: Mature/Explicit - Alpha Cas and Omega Sam are happily married. When their (biological) son Dean presents as an Alpha however, things change. Dean becomes possessive of his mommy Sam, and he starts to develop incestuous feelings for him. When he pops his knot at 12, he starts trying to seduce Sam, his own mother. The story progress as Dean becomes an adult.
1. Pushing the Envelope

Dean first becomes aware of his mom's influence on him a few months before he pops his knot at 12 - ridiculously young by alpha standards, where some present as old as 19 but more generally around 14. He's an early bloomer and it made his father proud. Not that Dean could take credit for it; it wasn't like he could control his sexual gender or will his knot into existence, but he couldn't help feeling elated at being the pride of his father, Castiel.

Sure, Castiel is anything but a knot-head, or an old-fashioned "pack leader" (which is an outdated 'wolf-country' term traditionally given to family providers, or the head alphas of a house). But who isn't at least a little glad when their son presents as a dominant? It's primal nature.

Dean's dad isn't exactly traditional but he's an alpha alright: strong, driven, opinionated, territorial, a little jealous, overprotective, somewhat overbearing, "the husband" in this house, but also a solid presence and always there for his family. So yeah, in true alpha fashion, Castiel couldn't help being happy when his first son turned out to be like him, and Dean knows it.

Despite being a believer in discipline, being the head of his household, and respecting Alpha-Omega roles, Castiel is usually neither strict about them or half as brutal enforcing them as the typical alpha. Mind you, he never denies his or his wife Sam's nature, but he doesn't define either himself or Sam by it. For instance, he never barks orders at Sam, or patronises Sam, or attempts to humiliate him to show him who's boss, or asks too much of him that he couldn't give, but he does put his foot down when it's called for.

As far as Dean knows, Cas never forces his mommy into sex if Sam doesn't feel like it, and, for that matter, he never pushes him to bear many children as per alpha tradition.

After Dean was born, a little more than a year into their marriage, Sam wanted to give his body a long break and Castiel indulged him,without argument - another thing that separates Castiel from regular, traditional alphas, who more often than not force their wives to pop babies, health concerns notwithstanding.

Castiel didn't even flinch when a relative suggested that, as far as alphas go, Castiel is too pliant toward his omega. The comment would enrage a prototypical alpha. Castiel just chuckled and didn't even deny it.

Part of it, Dean thinks, might be because his father and mother are actually in love. Hopelessly so, from the looks of it. Childhood sweethearts and all that. They got married in their late teens and never separated since. In this society, that's not how alphas and omegas typically get together; they usually get betrothed or engaged through business-like deals and, the marriage is either arranged by the families, or happens in response to a purely physical, earthly attraction (someone's heat aligns with another's rut and that's that).

More often than not, alphas and omegas get well acquainted after marriage, not before. Not Sam and Castiel.

Their love was nurtured over the years, and well before moving in together each had already known what made the other tick. Dean could swear they talked with their eyes sometimes, and that's why, for instance, Castiel rarely uses his alpha voice inside the house, except with his children. Say, when Dean is misbehaving or pulling tantrums, or later on when Dean's little brother Adam grew up into a small beta menace and became hard to control. Only then he'd use his deep alpha voice, usually in warning, a scare tactic. Otherwise, Cas never needs to force his way.

In short, Cas is a reasonable man, a loving husband and a doting father. In many ways, he's just perfect.

But that doesn't stop Dean from feeling some resentment for him when he himself starts getting interested in mommy that way.

It doesn't stop Dean from trying to dethrone his dad, either, later on, when his Alpha nature rears its ugly head. But that doesn't happen until much later — perhaps a few years from now, when things get- uhm- complicated.

Now, even Dean doesn't realise how far this thing - _these feelings_ \- will one day take him, how aggressively it will consume him and scar his relationship with his parents for good. Now, he's just mesmerised by his tall, built, tanned and beautiful mommy. Obsessed with how his scent makes his stomach tingle and makes him feel funny between his legs. Right now, Sam is slowly becoming his world. Castiel's claiming rights be damned, Dean thinks.

It was Sam's scent that caught Dean's attention first and drew him closer. It started to permeate strongly right after Sam gave birth to his brother Adam. Dean would sit beside his mom as Adam nursed from him, and bask in the delicately warm smell of his beautiful Sammy. Whiffs of cinnamon, milk, this thing that's pure omega; his mommy smelled like summer and freshly baked pie, and sex! Dean couldn't help but lean into the smell every time it tickled his senses. He'd put his head on mommy's right arm and watch Adam suckle on one of his round full breasts - now lactating and engorged thanks to his baby brother.

These days, he gets drunk on the proximity.

Right now, for instance, they're sprawled on the living room's sofa. Sam is feeding Adam and Dean is glued to his side. It's a hot summer afternoon. His mommy's sweaty. His long hair - perspired and damp - is sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. His t-shirt is bunched up on one side, and one pair of boobs is leaking out of his sports bra, one dark perky nipple engulfed by his baby brother's small mouth. Sam's soft belly, still marred by stretch marks, is bare, and Dean can see the beginning of the dark treasure trail that runs from Sam's navel down to his groin, hidden under the thin fabric of his sleep pants. The threadbare pants sit low on his hips and reveal a glimpse of Sam's plain white briefs. Dean's eyes keep flickering hungrily from one part to another. He wishes he could just lean forward and kiss the bare skin, but he doesn't have the courage, not yet. He settles for laying one hand on Sam's thigh, the one currently brushing his. Just a small casual move.

First his hand lies nearer to Sam's knees, then he slowly moves it up. Sam's eyes are closed; he's visibly tired, he's had a long day and Cas is at work, so he's taking care of a newborn and Dean on his own during the day. Better for me , Dean thinks, more alone time with mommy .

He shifts his hand up a little more and now Dean's hand is comfortably lying on top of Sam's thigh, next to his groin. Dean's very aware of this. His heart starts drumming a little faster, like he's scheming or something. And on some level, he is.

Only a few months back, Dean used to shrug mommy's constant affections, often wriggled away when Sam kissed his cheeks or tried to hug him. After he turned nine, Dean had become self-conscious about receiving any affection that made him feel like he was being babied - more so in front of his school friends and his best friend Benny. He remembers being horrified when his mother would swoop down on him and give him a kiss on the forehead or on the cheek when he'd drop him off to school. A few months back, that was out of the question. He'd huff and puff and turn his head away to escape said kisses. Then lecture mom about it after school, tell him he embarrasses him (his mom would sometimes be amused, other times a little pained he and his boy seem to be growing apart. Dean is the apple of his eye, he'd want to keep him close to himself, in his arms, forever ... if he could) - well, Dean would only lecture when Castiel wasn't in earshot. He had to be always careful with this. Sam was the soft parent. Cas doesn't tolerate attitude, more so when it's directed at his Sammy.

When he turned 11, it was worse. Instead of spending time with mommy and his dad, he'd run to his room after school and only come out to use the restroom or eat. Or he would go out with his friends. He wanted his space, he told Sam. He spent less and less time with him and his other parent. At the beginning, Sam would try to coax him out, drag him to the living room to force them to spend some more time together, or offer to take him to the movies (Dean was adamant not to be seen going out and about with his mom. Made it a point. He's grown up, now. _What if any of my friends see him? What kind of a loser goes to see a movie with his mom?_ ). In desperation, Sam would demand that Dean helped with meal preparations or in cleaning up the house sometimes just to get Dean to leave his cocoon and spend time with him. It used to make Dean furious sometimes, and make Sam feel guilty for being too clingy himself.

Now? Now, any physical contact with his mommy leaves Dean breathing hard, and makes him warm inside. He's now always aware of where his mom's body is touching his when they're sitting side by side, or when his head is cradled in his lap when they're all sitting together watching TV, or when Sam pats a cheek, or runs his fingers through his hair - which happens rarely since he'd complained about it in the past. "Stop it, I'm not a kid," he had once mumbled in annoyance and brushed Sam's hand off. It was one of those times that Sam had ruffled his hair lovingly. At the time, Dean was playing a video game, engrossed in it, and hadn't welcomed the distraction - or the touching. Again, that was only a month earlier. Oh, how things changed. Dean sighs and decides to concentrate on the present moment.

"Are you hurting, mommy?" Dean looks up at Sammy, and asks through half-lidded eyes, noticing now that his mom is still laying his head against the back of the couch, eyes shut.

"No, sweetheart, just tired," Sammy responds. He lifts his head up and looks down at his son, smiling. His dimples show.

"Mommy, I love your smile," Dean says, romancing.

He sometimes gets caught up in how beautiful his Sammy looks, like now. He kneads Sam's thigh, curling his hand around, shifting it more to the inside of Sam's thigh. Now the tips of his fingers can barely touch Sam's flaccid length. He can feel it , a shiver runs through him at the thought. "It's like sunshine," he elaborates.

Sam is a little surprised yet amused, not used to his son being so openly affectionate. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," he says, staring right into Sam's tired hazel-green eyes. His mind is where his hand is, right now. He strokes his thumb back and forth, lightly; he's sure this is Sam's cock he's brushing against, but his touch is so light it's almost non-existent. "Mommy, do you need me to help you with anything? You know, dad's not here, and you look drained."

Sam chuckles. "Ok, now I'm a little freaked. Who are you and what have you done with my son?" Then he winces, "oww!" it seems Adam bit his nipple a little. Sammy sits up abruptly, and puts a finger in Adam's mouth to force him to release the abused nipple. Dean looks at the puffy red and wet bud, and feels a rush of jealousy that Adam gets a taste of the delicious-looking tit and he doesn't. He understands Adam needs this but he can't help the surge of jealousy, _Goddammit!_ Sammy tucks this side in, hiding it away, and takes the other boob out.

When he was dislodged from the source of nourishment, Adam gave an ear-piercing squeal that didn't die out until mommy rearranged him and he latched back on, humming contentedly around the breast. Sam finally sits back and Dean lays his head against his shoulder again, now getting more space on Sam's chest when this side is baby-free.

Without thinking, Dean reaches out and touches around where Adam's lips are stretched around Sam's areola. His touch lingers. He wishes he could put a finger in Adam's mouth and touch his mom's nipple, feel the ducts from where the milk is sucked out. But he holds back. "Does it always hurt badly, when he nurses?" Dean asks. He's aware he sounds like a six-year-old. But that's the thing: his new feelings for mommy made him regress in some ways but feel older, more entitled, in others.

"It's only painful when he bites, but I'm sure you know it's not on purpose, sweetheart. He's just trying to force out more milk" Sam responds. Dean feels like moaning; he wishes he was the one suckling on the teet, biting lightly, drinking up Sam's sweet juice, feeding from one side, and petting the other, but he holds it in. A pause. Then Sam asks: "Are you okay, Dean?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. "Just feel a little sorry for you." Sam momentarily pushes away Dean when moves his right arm, only to curl it around his son and pull him snuggly against him.

"Hey, why do you feel sorry for me? Where is this coming from, Dean?" Sam says, his voice silky, dripping with mommy-warmth.

"It's just that ... just, you know. A baby is a lot of work is all. And other moms ... I mean, you're- you always look worn out these days. It makes me, it just-," he huffs, not knowing what to say.

Sam gives him a squeeze, then, "Dean baby, look at me." He does. "You're right, it's a lot of work. But I love every bit of it. You and Adam, you're everything, and I'm so happy to have been blessed with you. I may look tired, and sure a child takes its toll on the body. Every man or woman is different and it's somewhat harder on me. I happen to struggle a little after giving birth. But I chose this. And I'm the happiest person on Earth right now. Besides, Cas helps a lot, he's an angel, and just knowing you feel for mommy helps too, you know." Sam smiles then kisses Dean's forehead tenderly, and this time Dean doesn't push him away. Instead, he leans in and places a soft peck on the side of mommy's mouth.


	2. DressGate

It's Mother's Day and Dean Winchester is nervous as hell about his gift for his mommy. Usually, he and his dad go out and shop for presents together. Dean is normally nonchalant about the whole thing, going for easy options: the "magical" combo of flowers and cards, a foreign movie on DVD and a card, or the easiest Mother's Day gift-giving hack of all: cooking books. On principle, he refuses to buy music for his mommy, no way in hell he'd encourage Sam's highly questionable tastes there. But he can grit his teeth and indulge his book-smart mom in other areas. And thankfully, Sam is always easy to please. Dean is sure that if he ends up getting his mommy deodorant and shaving cream on Mother's Day, the man would still smile big, "awww" at him, take him in his arms, and cover his face with kisses - not that he's complaining, especially not about the kissing. Not anymore, at least.

I mean, those lips, Dean muses.

Last year, Dean bought Sam a series of hardcover books on WWI. His mother is a bit of a nerd and loves history books. It also served as a pastime on those long nights when Sam was up helping a very upset baby Adam return to sleep. They work during the day, too. More than once Dean would hear Sam read parts of those books out loud to Adam, who seems to have inherited the geek genes, perking up to the sound. Adam even reacts to the words - well, the tone of the words - knitting his brows in concentration or frowning in this hilariously cute way, or cooing. Sam thinks it's adorable. Dean thinks it's just plain sad, _I'll definitely be outnumbered when Adam grows up and starts making potato batteries ... for fun!_ Sigh.

But this year... this year is different.

Ever since this _thing_ between his mom and him started growing, things like birthdays and Mother's Day celebrations have taken on a certain significance for Dean. So far the sexual tension has been one-sided. Dean isn't stupid; he's not disillusioned about how his mom feels about him. Sure, Sam doesn't just care about him, he friggin' worships the ground Dean walks on! He loves him, alright. _But not in this way. Not yet_, Dean tells himself.

He's still the little Alpha of the family (despite the fact that he's becoming stronger, taller, and erm, bigger, everywhere ). Castiel, his dad, is still boss, and until now, he's the only one that puts that shine in mommy's eyes. He's the one that makes him melt and swoon. He can lock lips with Sam anywhere and people wouldn't think twice of it. He can lick Sam's lips, plunder his mouth, get Sam off– he can watch Sam strip, he can take showers with Sam, he can sit him between his legs and touch him all over. He can touch Sam in places Dean can only _dream_ about. He's the one who takes Sam to bed every night, sometimes locks the door, locks the rest of the world out (including Dean) and takes Sam apart slowly, or mounts him and pounds into him if he chooses. He can take Sam on all fours, on his back, on his side, put him on his lap, or blanket him chest to back and fuck him into the mattress. Sometimes the muffled moans filter through the doors. Dean would hide under the pillow, because even those soft reminders of how Sam and Castiel are to each other ( that you Dean is not, may never be ) sucked.

No matter how much Sam loves Dean, Dean is barred from seeing or feeling his mommy this way.

Dean feels a darkness spread inside his chest at the thought, gripping his lungs and squeezing the air out. He hates it. He fuckin' hates that someone else gets to do this to his mommy. Gets to whisper love words in his ears, gets to talk dirty to him, gets to wake up every morning next to him, touch him, make love to him ... when he's his . Dean's. His heart is his. His hair is his. His eyes, his lips ... his tits, cock and asshole are his. Every bit of him from head to toe is Dean's. One day Dean may be able to make him understand that Dean was born out of his own womb, into this world, to claim him. That, without realizing, Sam gave birth to his true mate. It's what it is.

For now, Dean will settle for the stolen touches.

And this. The dress.

Dean has saved up from his own pocket money and picked it out of hundreds. Sure, by the end of every shopping trip, he felt he was ready to grow lady parts; it was both frustrating (strolling through the women sections in malls or department stores) and exciting (the excitement comes just from the thought that his mom might humor him, and actually wear it. Might enjoy wearing it. For him. Because Dean is the one got it, for Sammy).

His mom never wears dresses. He sticks to t-shirts, button-ups, sweaters, hoodies, jeans, and the occasional dress pants. When he's lactating and his boobs have grown to a considerable size, somewhere between a B- and a C-cup, he wears sports bras or those plain-looking white or beige halter tops, with supporting bras, tailor-made for male omegas. Ugly things, if you ask Dean.

Dean's also seen Sam's collection of underwear when he helped him fold laundry a few times. It was clear not much thought was put into the purchases: all whites, greys and blacks and mostly boxer briefs and shorts with some threadbare pouch briefs, which Dean will admit made his breath hitch and his heart race a little when he imagined how the "pouch" would probably cradle Sam's length, how his mother's soft genitals would sit comfily in it, and jiggle some when he moves, how his prick will tent and stretch the thin material when he's aroused.

But apart from those briefs, or more likely the obscene thoughts they illicit in Dean, nothing in his mother's wardrobe is skimpy or remotely feminine, which is unfair considering how delicious his mommy is. He's never seen his mommy buck naked but he's seen him in swimming trunks, and the man is all long legs. He has solidly muscled arms and back, wide shoulders, and a killer pair of rippling pecs that bounce around when Sam is braless and lactating (He flaunts them only when they're on a private beach. Cas refuses to let Sam go shirtless in public and Dean backs him up on this). And the package is all the more gorgeous when his mommy's skin is sun-kissed and glowing.

To be clear, there's nothing soft about his mother's body, except perhaps his belly and breasts post child-bearing. But unlike Dean, who's already packing solid muscles, and some bulk and hard edges thanks to his self-inflicted brutal workout regimen and boxing training, Sam's body is strong but exudes a certain vulnerability, like it can be bent to someone's will, like it needs to be treated with care or it breaks, something that tickles the protective instinct of an Alpha.

This body needs to be treated right, Dean believes. It needs to be wrapped up in silk, and lace, and sexy lingerie - the masculine accentuated by a feminine touch.

Hence the dress, which Dean hopes will be the first of many Sam ends up owning.

Dean chose a white number, a backless cotton summer dress, long. Hugs the torso and then flares out, and it's held up by a pair of criss-cross thin straps. It boasts a long slit in the front, which is most of the reason why Dean picked this one. The material is soft and it looks comfy. For a first-time crossdresser, Dean thinks it isn't very revealing, if you discount the open back. Dean hopes Sam will discount it.

Part of him feels Castiel might actually encourage it, but he doesn't know how he feels about this. Sure, it'll give Sam a better motive to wear it if Castiel likes it, he reasons, still, Dean wants Sam to wear it for him, not for his father.

He bought it a day earlier but goes out on Mother's Day to wrap it up nicely. He even includes a card and all, with a message that begins with, "To my beautiful," and ends with "Love, Dean." Dean rarely uses words like love. He doesn't know how, despite growing up in a very loving environment, and with an openly affectionate mother. Somehow he's just not built to wear his heart on his sleeve-

... but for his mommy, he could learn to. Anything for him, _his_ Sammy.

When he gets home, he doesn't waste time. He finds mommy at the kitchen table and practically throws the wrapped gift in front of him from how nervous he is (mumbling a barely audible "h-happy Mother's Day"). Way to go Dean , he thinks, nothing says confident, fearless Alpha like stuttering through your greeting and sweating bullets as you do. He's only 13 and has girls - omegas and betas, strangers and friends alike - eating out of his hands at school. Older girls, younger girls, even teachers. But at home, with the man he loves and lusts after, with the man who friggin' raised him, he's a pitiful mess of nerves.

His mom's face brightens up when the gift falls with a light thud into his lap.

And Castiel chooses this moment to walk into the room.

With Dad around, Dean generally holds back his affections, tenses a little. No romancing the mommy, touching, tickling, staring longingly in his eyes a few seconds too long, laying his mommy's head in his lap and swirling his fingers through his soft locks as he tells him about his day, or slipping an arm around his waist as he washes the dishes, standing on tiptoe and whispering to Sam softly, right in his ears, nuzzling his neck or kissing his cheek. And Dean would do it all, but not around daddy. He might notice and wonder.

So Dean consciously edits himself. He now squares his shoulders, slips his hands into his pockets, leans back against the kitchen counter and tries to chill a little. Latches that smug smile to his face, ready for wise-cracking if the situation calls for it.

"Hey buddy."

He gets a pat on the shoulder. "Hi, dad," he responds.

"You're in time to see what Dean got me for Mother's Day," Sam says, all smiles already, happy energy oozing off of him. "I was just about to unwrap it."

"Let's see. Not more books, huh Dean?" Castiel asks.

"What? And listen to mom read them out loud for the whole house? No way, learned my lesson, dude."

"Hey, they're educational!" Sam protests as Cas begins, "don't dude me, kiddo!" They both continue speaking over each other, tumbling through their words like they often do. It reminds Dean of when he was younger. "You'll thank me when you're in high school, acing history exams," Sam says. "I'm your dad. If you were born a decade earlier, you'd be calling me sir," Cas adds, half-serious of course. Yeah, right. Sir . Castiel is not that kind of dad, period, not now or three centuries earlier. He's a cool dad , Dean admits in his head.

"Woah!" Dean chuckles at how they're speaking over each other. "Whatever, just open it, mom."

Sam does. The surprise on his parents faces is fleeting; Sam's is immediately replaced with confusion. Castiel looks cautiously entertained. Looks like the subject of dresses has been broached before, Dean theorizes in his head, and been shot down if mommy's very manly wardrobe is any indication.

Sam unfolds the dress and holds it away to take a good look at it. He clears his throat. "It's an interesting choice, Dean." He doesn't comment on it further, and Dean while senses Sam might now be flustered, his mommy is mostly unreadable.

"Well, good luck getting him to wear that," Castiel says with a shadow of a smirk. Sam glares at him, outright glares at him. Not good. This totally throws Dean off.

In truth, he expected Sam to laugh out loud, then, after some face-saving banter and some struggling, agree to wear it, because it's Dean's gift and he loves Dean.

He was even prepared for a little rebellion, after which he was ready to playfully challenge Sammy to wear it, "To prove you're confident in your masculinity, mom!" Sam always rises up to challenges; it's how his mommy's built.

At least Dean was _praying_ for either of these scenarios. He was practically dying to see his mommy all dolled up in this dress.

But the situation, though initially cheerful, is gaining this strange intensity, fast.

"You don't like it?" Dean asks, now pouting a little.

He doesn't get an answer immediately, so he adds: "I can return it and get you something else." There's a too-sullen edge to his words. _Be cool_, Dean, a voice in his head says.

But this is going sideways on Dean, very quickly. He's not amused.

The pout yields the desired effect, since Sam sighs and backtracks to his happy-self, mostly. "Sweetheart, I didn't say I don't like it. I-I do."

"Of course you do," Dean says, still sullen and prickly around the edges. It's clear that Sam doesn't like the gift.

Sam sighs again.

"It's just, it's not me, Dean. You know your mom. I never wear dresses. I'm not going to start now."

"Why not?" Dean shoots back.

"It's not who I am."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not fond of them," Sam says, choosing his words carefully.

"What's wrong with dresses?"

Castiel, who has so far been on the sidelines, interjects. "There's nothing wrong with them, De. It's just that your mom isn't comfortable wearing them. And believe me, Sam and I have discussed it before."

"Mom's an omega," Dean says with a hint of a growl, like Sam's challenging him by arguing his choice of gift, like Dean's being rejected, not the dress. Like Sam rejects both him, **and **his own omega status. _Why can't he just own up to it and act like a regular omega?_ Now that he thinks of it, his mommy - thanks to Castiel's lax discipline - is very beta . The realisation hits Dean and it annoys him something bad.

Also, if Sam once discussed dresses openly with his dad, he can discuss it with Dean. He's not a child. He can have a proper conversation about this like the adult that he is. But for this conversation to happen, Sam has to be open about it, not clam up like he's doing now ... like Dean's a stranger. _It's insulting_, Dean thinks.

"A lot of omega men wear dresses!" he adds, for emphasis.

Now this comment seems to irk Sam. "Well, Dean, I'm not like a lot of Omega men," Sam responds sharply, his voice getting louder, a vein in his neck throbbing and the tone makes Dean flinch.

Silence.

Sam shakes his head, like he's quickly reprimanding himself for the small near-outburst. He takes a deep breath again, and a small smile quirks his lips. "Hey, Dean sweetie, you didn't know I hat'em. And it's a lovely gift, if it weren't for me." Shit, Sam thinks, I'm making it worse. Pull yourself together Sam. He quickly adds, "We're not returning it. Even if I know I'm not gonna wear it, I'm keeping it if it means so much to you."

_Who said anything about it meaning so much to me_, Dean thinks stubbornly. Deep inside, he knows he's just furious he got figured out. He's fuming now, burning hot inside, but as per Dean, manages to project a different veneer and turn cold on the outside. "Keep it or don't. I don't care," he says

"For a child-bearing omega," He might as well. _In for a penny_ ... "who breastfeeds, whose kids call mommy," _who gets dripping wet between his legs in heat, who gets fucked on his back, who moans pretty like a girl_ ... He thinks it but doesn't say it, if only for Castiel's benefit. "You sure as hell are picky about what to wear." If Sam's in denial of his own nature, Dean's not. He knows well what his mom is.

Dean pushes away from the counter he was leaning on and starts walking away.

"Dean," Castiel calls firmly. His voice takes on a much darker shade now, all earlier amusement gone. Dean stops and turns, slowly, staring back steadily at his dad, and barely masking his displeasure.

"Behave, or I'll make you." He steps forwards, seeming to loom over Dean, "Why are _you_ taking this so close to heart? This is your mother's choice. You should respect it. I do, and I'm the husband between us. _The_ Alpha here."

"Yeah," Dean says, looking away. You are . He just wants them both out of his sight right now.

More silence. Castiel shifts back on his feet a little, as if remembering Dean's only thirteen and still a kid.

"Come on, De," Castiel huffs.

"Don't call me that," he hisses back.

"You're being childish," Castiel says, recognizing all the signs that his son is erecting walls around himself, clamming up.

Dean gaze turns colder, if possible, and he just stands there, waiting to be dismissed.

"Okay," Castiel says, a moment later, scrubbing a hand across his face. When Dean's like this, it's a lost cause. "You're not off the hook. We'll discuss your behaviour later. I have some work to finish."

At 13, his kid is too old for spanking, and Cas doesn't enjoy giving it but if he has to, he'll do it; but not now, maybe tonight. He'll talk to Sam first. He normally knows better than to consult Sam on corporal punishment for discipline, but, knowing his wife, Sam might be more hurt that he's letting on at the moment, and so might green light it afterall.

Sam will have the final word on this, Cas decides, only this time.

This alpha-omega talk has made Sam's head spin. It's always been his least favorite subject, and he won't lie, it hurts to be referred by his son as an omega with such disdain . Like he's a thing. Like his choices and likes and whims should be dictated by his biology, not who he is beyond that. Sam has lived most of his life fighting the notion that he's a label, a shell, and that's why he chose Castiel as his mate, besides love, of course. Cas respects his choices.

But Dean? His son is way too young to understand the complexities of it all – the emotional baggage that comes with being an omega. He was just making a gesture, and according to Castiel, Dean has refused to pick a gift together this year, or to take extra money for one, which means this was special for Dean. Cas spilled the beans on Dean's gift hunt only this morning, out of pride; he wanted Sam to know Dean is making an effort. Of course, Castiel didn't know what Dean was particularly looking for. He just knew the boy wanted to make his own pick, that he's putting some extra thought into it. And judging from how much he's offended, Sam is sure Dean put a lot of thought into this one.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I'm reacting badly. I shouldn't," Sam finally says, moving towards his son, extending an arm to pull him into a hug. "You meant well, and that's all that matters," he says as he holds Dean. "Thank you, sweetie."

Dean doesn't hug back, just stands there passively. "You're not gonna hug mommy back?" Sammy asks sweetly. Sam's gotten used to the growing intimacy between them.

Dean, however, tenses his shoulder, doesn't move.

"Are you done?" Dean asks coolly a moment later from where he's bundled up in Sam's arms. It's Sam's turn to flinch. He pulls back and whispers, "Yeah," letting his son go. He watches with sad eyes as Dean climb the stairs of their two-story house, probably to hole up in his room.

His son has shut down.

Dean avoids looking back as he withdraws from what he's sure are a pair of misty eyes. He leaves his parents behind. Even he doesn't know how it all went wrong so quickly, but the curling in his gut tells him he's glad to have them out of his sight for now.


	3. Withdrawal Effects

It's been a week since DressGate - yup, that's what Dean calls it in his head now, ever since his fantasies of seeing mommy in that dress came crashing down around his ears. Well, a part of him knew he was being a bit of a drama queen about it but man, he's still _pissed_. The other parts sure are.

A couple of hours after that kitchen talk that sealed the fate of the white dress, Cas came into Dean's room to talk. Dean's responses to his Dad's reprimand ranged from grunts to nods to "yes, sir"s that were laced with a hint of sarcasm_, _and finally a reluctant "acknowledgment" that, "sure, I was rude." ... "Yeah, why not? I'll apologize."

His father knew better of course - Dean was as hardheaded as his mom, and as shrewd as his dad. He wasn't ready to be forced into a change of heart about what happened, nope he wasn't budging, that much was crystal clear to Cas, but Dean wasn't too stupid to admit this either and risk getting grounded, or worse, spanked like a child.

So Dean was simply humoring his father; bending with the storm, and occasionally giving Castiel what he needed to hear. And Cas was going through the motions too. Earlier to this, Sam wouldn't hear anything about "a spanking" or enforcing some discipline, being consumed with guilt and convinced he should've just thanked Dean and fake-promised to wear the damn dress so as not to hurt his son's feelings like this. Dean would've eventually forgotten the dress existed. He's a teen, Sam reasoned, and teens have the attention spans of goldfish.

In short, Cas knew that he wasn't going to punish his boy per se, but he needed to act the part of the angry dad, and chastise his son for his attitude towards his mom to avoid an encore.

But Sam isn't the only reason Cas is going a little easy on Dean.

If you point a gun to his head, and force him to talk, Cas would reluctantly admit that he had his own reasons.

He understood.

A big part of Cas - though mad at the way Dean snapped at his mommy, on mother's day of all days - knew where Dean is coming from.

See, not all Alphas are the same; Cas himself is a case in point.

Born and raised in a conservative house, where Alpha-Omega traditions were strictly upheld, and his father's word was law, Castiel still grew up to be a liberal, of sorts. He broke ranks with the Winchester's stringent beliefs about what Alpha-Beta-Omega gender roles entitled, and there was nothing his family could do to change his mind. Knowing Sam has helped Cas solidify these liberal tendencies, with Sam being outspoken, especially on Omega rights and their freedom of choice and expression. Both of them frown upon archaic laws that sometimes reduce Omegas to glorified breeding holes and whittle Alphas down to talking knot-obsessed animals. They both reject this picture, and their lifestyle was a living proof.

Unlike other Alphas in his family, Cas is content with having only two children, and would have been with just the one, knowing how much Sam's body suffered during pregnancy and after. Alphas in Cas' family run tight ships, each having at least a half dozen children, whether their Omegas like it (or can handle it) or not, with some taking on beta mistresses, besides their wives, and impregnating those too. "Spreading the seed, brother," his second cousin Zachariah - father of nine - would say smugly.

His sex life with Sam is pretty vanilla, also atypical of Alpha-Omega relationships where the Alpha usually assert their dominance through things like sadomasochism, public claiming, painful bondage, prolonged orgasm denial and forcing themselves on their mates. Some Alphas even dare to collar their mates, like dogs. Castiel mentally cringes at the thought. He wouldn't dream of doing any of that to his precious Sammy. His six-foot-four beautiful, sensitive, delicate flower.

And although Castiel was beaming when his son presented as Alpha (his joy was a guttural, knee-jerk reaction that couldn't be helped), he would've loved him just the same if he had turned out to be Omega or Beta, he would've treated him no differently.

But here he is - a considerate, loyal husband, an Alpha advocating equal gender roles, and a father who set rules alright, but made exceptions, and often indulged his family (Cas' cousin Gabe jokingly calls Castiel a "soccer dad," and again Castiel isn't insulted by the sneer) - but his own son is apparently yearning for the same Alpha-Omega dynamics he and Sam have once rejected.

_What do you know_, Cas thinks with a smile. _My own father would have a field day with this if he knows. _Cas will try to make sure he doesn't ever.

If Castiel is reading this right, Dean is worming his way into becoming a standard Alpha, and Cas simply can't get himself to punish his son for that. Castiel is well aware that the aggressive, possessive, dark sexual tendencies of Alphas are hardwired; people are not just their biology, sure, but innate nature cannot be discounted. Being an Alpha himself, he knows it takes a lot to reign in those tendencies, and if it weren't for Sam, Castiel himself might have devolved.

In other countries of the world, things are different. In some places, omegas are even't allowed to step a foot outside the house, being seen with a mated omega can land you a fine, even a flogging depending on the nature of the encounter, while in others, like Europe for instance, Alphas are generally progressionists and the majority of Omegas live like Betas. Heck in Paris, the heart of the sexual revolution, Cas hears that Omegas can take multiple partners, "open relationships" and "free love" and all that. Even he can't stomach this notion. Thinking about Sam being touched by someone else, just the fleeting thought of it, makes his blood boil.

But in this society, traditional is the norm; him and Sam are the fringe movement.

Castiel's unconditional love for Sam, and his respect for their bond, tamed him.

But as liberal as he is, by this society's standards at least, Castiel is also open to the idea that perhaps his father's and his father's father's ways work for some people; that relating to one's nature on this primal level may also be a choice that he should respect.

So yeah, he understands his son might not turn out to be like him, and as scary as this idea is, if turns out to be true, he'll have to accept it, and only step in if his son goes too far.

Dean didn't know all that, of course, but he sensed his father was surprisingly level-headed about his rude outburst on that day.

Not that he regrets his outburst.

Dean, as agreed with Cas, murmured his apology, which of course his mommy immediately accepted, even apologized back but he still gave Sam the silent treatment for almost a week. _Serves Sam right. _

He'd speak only when talked to, sometimes responds with a mere shrug of the shoulders. And he keeps his words clipped.

He stopped following his mom around the house, and quit spending the afternoons in his arms, lazing on the sofa, reading together or watching TV or looking on as Sam breastfeeds his baby brother. Ever since his feelings had started last year, right after Adam was born, Dean and his mom have developed an intimate routine; not a day passes without them spending some time together, especially that his dad usually worked late into the evening so it was mostly just them.

Sometimes, they'd even unfold the living room's sofa bed, and take a nap together. Sam would lie down with Adam's tiny body sprawled on top on his chest, and Dean glued to one hip, drooling on his shoulder, their legs tangled together.

Not this week, Dean thinks. This week, he spends all his free time letting off steam in boxing training, or playing video games, surfing the internet or just lying on his bed and bobbing his head to AC/DC or staring at the ceiling, or sometimes, he'd jerk off and think of his mom.

He misses the intimacy, but he's holding his ground.

Part of him feels like teaching his mom a lesson. _His omega_. But the bigger part is just plain hurt Sam rejected him like this.

His mom of course is miserable. Only a day ago, when he'd strolled into the kitchen catching Sam off guard, he saw that his mom's eyes were red-rimmed and teary, and he knew it was because of him; his mom was sensitive like that, probably just as overly attached to him as he is to her. Not unlike him, throughout the past year, his mommy's heart was thoroughly warmed by their new-found closeness.

Sam actively encouraged the displays of affections, and heavily reciprocated, in all innocence of course.

When his mom noticed him come in, he quickly rubbed his eyes, cleared his throat, and asked him if he'd like something to eat. He did. They always had lunch alone. Dean had always thought of this time as his lunch dates with his mommy - with his dad out of the picture. They'd chat about random things, discuss Adam's latest baby antics or Sam would listen to Dean talk excitedly (or dejectedly, depending on the day) about his day at school, or out with friends (if it's summer time).

But this day they didn't exchange a word throughout the meal. Dean didn't look up from his plate, lest he be assaulted by a pair of doe-eyes that would probably make him lose all resolve. Time inched forward at an excruciatingly slow pace. On Dean's life, that meal was the longest 15 minutes of his existence.

Only at the end of that week, after they'd run into each other in the hallway, did the ice melt.

Dad was away for the day; he went fishing with his friends, the outing was planned weeks in advance, and Sam had stayed in to take care of Adam and Dean. He'd put Adam to sleep, after nursing him, and slipped into the shower. Sam stood under the hot water for close to 20 minutes trying to ease the tension in his shoulders and back. When he was done, he pulled a large towel around himself, covering up his swollen chest as well, and left the bathroom. Because of his figure, even the oversized towel didn't decently hide his nakedness enough.

The towel just barely covered his limp swinging prick, and if he bends forward just a little, his bare ass would jut out.

He should invest in a large fluffy bathrobe, pamper himself a bit, Sam thinks.

Heading out of his room for a reprieve from his self-imposed incarceration, Dean sees his mom come out of the bathroom, just opposite from him, at the same time. He was nude except for a towel, obscenely short, and failing to hide the miles of long legs, still damp from his shower apparently.

The towel wrapped tightly around his chest pushed up the swell of Sam's mounds giving him a bit of cleavage. Sam's thighs are muscled, and well-defined, and in contrast, his tits are soft and feminine (probably leaking milk right now, Dean thinks). The son's gaze moves over his mommy, his mouth going dry.

The man standing in front of Dean is gorgeous. And it's too late to turn away and hide in his room.

"Hey, sweetheart," Sam says awkwardly. He takes a deep breath and looks Dean right in the eyes. _The doe eyes, damn it_. Dean's screwed. "Still not talking to me?" Sam says, biting his lower lip, wetting it then releasing it. It's shiny now, friggin' edible. Dean's a little gone.

"No, mom, we're OK. I was just a little taken back," Dean says. He won't say he was hurt. He's too proud to admit it to his mom's face.

"You know, Dean," his mom begins, and mid-sentence, he looks away for a second and lifts his hands and runs them through his wet hair. When he does, the towel rides up an inch or two, and Dean catches a glimpse of his mommy's flaccid cock. Just the tip. Dean swallows audibly, blood pooling to his groin. Sam continues, "I was hurt too."

Dean swallows again, and his voice comes out hoarser than he'd intended, "Yeah?"

"Yeah Dean," his mom says. "The way you spoke about me. You know, being an omega. That was-that wasn't nice, sweetie."

_That damn subject again._

"But you're an omega, mom," he says stubbornly, his half-arousal wilting. He doesn't want to pick a fight again, so he flattens his tone, adding: "I meant no disrespect. I was just stating a fact. It is who you are, mom."

"Well one day sweetie, we need to sit and have a good talk about this. 'Least when I'm not half-naked and dripping water all over the carpet," Sam says and smiles. "I'm not like other omegas, and I'm sure you've noticed that. Cas and I ..." _Gulp_.

Dean could see his mom's Adam apples' bobbing as he swallows.

"Your dad and I, we do things differently, and we don't care for a second what society says about that. I'd like to keep it this way," Sam explains. But his tone is apologetic now. It doesn't carry the sting or resoluteness than it did a week ago when they first discussed the dress.

_Still means no dress._

_God, he's turning into a knot-head._

"Yeah, I can see that." Dean says, feeling a little defeated.

"You don't like it." Sam says, and it's not a question. He looks guilty, like he's disappointed Dean.

"Does it matter?"

"Sweetheart, you just don't understand it well enough-"

"Then make me! Help me understand it."

"Ok, first off, I wanna know ... why do you wanna see me in a dress? Is it that important to you that I be like other omega moms?" Sam asks, and he's genuinely curious. The conversation might linger, so Sam leans back against the now closed bathroom door, easing his posture and making himself a tiny bit more comfortable.

"Yes," Dean says without thinking. Sam's reading this wrong, _it's not about other omegas and what they do, it's about you, mommy, being my omega_. But that's okay. If Sammy reads him right, Dean's screwed. "I mean, would it hurt to be normal, on occasion, do what everyone else does?"

He rests his back against his door too, mirroring his mommy's more relaxed posture.

"It's not only that," Dean says softly then pounds his head back lightly, against the door. "It's just that you're-you're so damn beautiful, mom." He guesses he can get away with a little swearing right now. "It's ridiculous. It takes my breath away sometimes. And I just want to see you in something nice, that brings it all out, you know, how pretty you are. It's not like I'm asking you to wear dresses all the time." _A lie_. "Just once or twice. For me."

He's finding it hard to explain without being explicit. "And it's different than anything else you have. If you wear it, it makes you ..." _Mine_. "It's-And I-it's just that." Dean looks down, suddenly interested in the carpet pattern beneath his feet.

Sam nods his head slowly, though part of him is visibly trying to fill the gaps, between Dean's words, to decipher the pauses and the stutters. That part gives up. Sam looks touched by the declaration though.

Then he surprises Dean.

"Ok, I'll think about it."

"Really?" Dean's head shoots up.

"Yeah, sweetie. Really." Sam smiles big. "Now, ready to give mommy a hug and make up?" He says spreading his arms wide.

Dean throws himself into Sammy's arms without an ounce of hesitation. His mom huffs out a breath at the contact then giggles at his son's sudden enthusiasm, in the wake of a dead cold _miserable_ week.

If it'll keep Dean in his arms, where he belongs, Sammy will man up and wear the stupid dress. It's totally worth it, he concludes.

They keep their hold on each other, neither wanting to let go first.

Dean's head rests comfortably under Sam's chin, his own chin lying on top of Sammy's breasts. At 13, Dean is one tall boy; and he'll grow taller still. But Sam is _huge_.

He's huge and ripe, and soft and solid, and the smell of his soap-clean skin, and his flower-scented shampoo, washes over Dean and calms him. Sam smells like home, _he is Dean's home_.

The fuzzy feelings soon start being replaced by heat, and Dean feels it in his belly and beneath. He knows that if he lets this hug drag on for much longer, he'll get hard, fast. So he pulls back a little.

His mom doesn't let go completely.

"I'm sorry mom." This time Dean means it. "I was too hard on you. You're not just an omega to me."

"I know, Dean," Sam's gaze doesn't falter. "I guess I was oversensitive too. I have my baggage, and sometimes, I keep it close to the surface. There's nothing wrong with being an omega, son. A male omega. And I-I know that. It's just that I'd like to think I'm a little more than a child-bearing, breastfeeding omega to the people I love," Sam says, repeating Dean's words from that day. Dean catches on, of course.

"Mommy, I didn't mean it this way. Not as an insult. Never. I'm blessed that you gave birth to me. To my brother. I'm blessed that my omeg-my mom is a man. And breastfeeding, it's not something to be ashamed of. ... It's **_totally_** cool actually!"

Hearing this, Sam giggles again. His smiles are contagious; Dean smiles wide too. "You think so?," he asks.

"I know so, mom."

They gaze at each other for a moment. Then Dean does it. He pushes up, and starts placing soft kisses along his mother's throat, sliding his lips against skin as he moves down to Sam's collarbone. _Kiss_. "I'm sorry, mommy." Dean wets his lips, then moves lower still. Along the swell of his tits. _Kiss_. Then another. Then another. Small, wet butterfly pecks.

Then Dean pulls his arms out from around Sammy's waist. And ...

... He unknots the towel some, without unwrapping it completely, just enough to reveal his mommy's breasts.

Sam lets him have this. Dean doesn't know why, he doesn't care. Sam's silent except when his breath quickens a little as his tits are revealed. The nipples harden under Dean's unwavering, _hungry_, gaze.

Sam's breasts are full, heavy with milk, his dusky buds are now hard and, like always, a dark shade of pink. It's not like he hasn't seen his mommy's tits before. But this, _this_ is different. Dean senses his mommy knows it too, though he might not be able to put a finger on why.

Right in front of Dean's eyes, a drop of milk forms on one duct and trickles down. Dean catches it with a finger and licks it. Then places a chaste kiss on each nipple, whispering I'm sorry, his lips brushing the nipples as he speaks.

He hikes the towel back up, then braves a look at Sammy. His mommy's cheeks are flaming, he looks shy, confused perhaps but-his eyes are full of love. Like always. "Thank you, Dean," he whispers, clutching Dean's hands and pulling them to his lips. He places a kiss inside of each palm.

...

The following Saturday, Dean wakes up to some music blaring from the kitchen, and his mom singing along, probably dramatically, performing for Adam who usually squeaks and laughs at his mommy's theatrics. It's Angus and Julia Stone's Big Jet Plane, Dean recognizes the lyrics and secretly judges himself for it. His mom, the romantic. _Argh, what happened to sweet old Metallica, mom?_ He thinks. He hates mornings. He splashes his face with water, brushes his teeth, and walks down.

And there he is. His mommy Sam in a white dress.

The white dress.

Adam is already up of course, in his high chair, spitting out food and making a happy mess. Mommy's lips quirk into a big smile when he sees Dean come in. He's prepared a big breakfast. Eggs and sizzling hot bacon, pancakes and orange juice.

Mommy gives him a quick pec on the cheek. Then swirls around, showing herself.

"What do you think?" Sam asks, a little shy from the looks of it. "Your daddy is out of town, and I thought I could just put it on for a few hours. It could be our little secret. Until I'm comfortable enough to wear it again, if I'm comfortable enough." Dean almost doesn't believe his ears. _Their secret_. Castiel is not going to have a piece of this. _This is just for him? _

Dean looks at Sam, from head to toe, taking it all in. The dress falls low on Sam's back, revealing it all.

The dress is not low-cut on the front, but the outline of Sam's pecs is clear, the hard nipples are poking out through two damp - now transparent - spots on the front, and Dean's eyes linger there for a bit. Sam notices, and quickly explains to Dean that the spots are washable. It's just milk. "It won't stain," he says. "This dress doesn't go well with any of my bras."

_And thank the Lord for that_, Dean thinks, his eyes going back to those wet spots. His cheeks burn hot and his cock gives a twitch. Then another when Dean's eyes move down along the expanse of Sam's body, all the way from his floppy hair to his bare toes stopping at the high-cut slit at the front of Sam's dress.

Every time he moves around the kitchen, the open sides of the skirt flutter revealing Sam's thick thighs and long unshaved legs. _My heart_, Dean thinks.

Dean needs to sit down, he decides, and hide what will soon be an embarrassingly full arousal behind the kitchen table.

When he does, he takes several deep breaths, thinks of big fat spiders, grandpa and grandma going at it and other ugly things that could help his erection die down. He succeeds a little, and his length falls to half-mast. _Phew, disaster averted_. _Mostly_.

...

Later this evening, Dean walks into the living room to find his mommy snoozing on the sofa. He still tires easily, ever since Adam, and he usually collapses by late afternoon, or early evening. Sammy is half sitting up, half lying down, his back resting against the arm of the sofa and his head is falling on his shoulder. Fatigue left him boneless, apparently, and drooling a little and Dean finds the latter adorable instead of gross.

Sam's mouth is slightly open, one arm falling to the floor, the other on his chest. One knee is slightly bent, resting against the back of the couch, the other is bent up and away, hiking up the dress, the skirt of it falling wide open and putting Sam on display. Not used to being in a dress, Sam's body is accustomed to comfort and openness. Being in shorts or pants all the time, it's subconscious; Sam's not used to closing his thighs or crossing his legs to hide his modesty, which is right now beautifully exhibited.

Dean's eyes flicker to between his mommy's lax legs, and Sam's white briefs are in full view.

His heart races.

His mommy is spread out like a delicious treat for his eyes only.

Dean moves closer, almost on tip toe, trying to be as quiet as he can. _Don't wake up mommy please_, Dean thinks. _Just let me see, show me please. Show me. _Dean keeps repeating this like a mantra in his head as he approaches his mom.

He's kneeling by the sofa now. His heart almost stops at what he glimpses. A fire burns hot in his belly. His gaze gets fixed between Sam's spread legs, and ...

... in his sleep, Sam's slack briefs have slipped to the side and now part of Sam's hairy sac is exposed. Dean can't stop staring, and it feels dirty wrong, in all the right ways.

He keeps staring, mesmerized, his own chest rising and falling sucking in breaths at double speed.

Dean wishes he could bend forward and take Sam's naked heavy balls into his mouth and suck, lick a wet stripe across Sam's junk, mouth at the head through the cottony fabric. Dean's own cock fattens up as his gaze travels between Sam's open mouth, slack briefs and his covered tits. His hips jerk. Once, twice. He starts alternating between rubbing his cock to give himself some relief, then kneading his balls (almost bruisingly) to stop himself from creaming his underwear. He desperately wants to rut against the couch, or better his mommy, but he can't chance Sam waking up.

His own briefs are now damp with precome.

He plucks up some courage, and runs a finger against mommy's balls. He looks up at his face. Sammy hasn't even stirred, his mommy is fast asleep.

Then without hesitating, Dean takes the rim of the threadbare, loose fabric and stretches it to the side exposing more of the hidden treasure beneath. He can now see cock.

For an Omega, Sammy is well endowed.

Now that he can see everything, Dean can't stop looking at his mommy's nuts and flaccid prick.

He wants to take Sam into his mouth and taste him there, nibble on the flesh. Perhaps bury his nose under Sam's sac, take several deep breaths. Smell his mommy down there, take in the pure omega scent.

He wants to breathe his mommy.

But he can't, not now, so instead, he kisses, very lightly. Nuzzling Sam's exposed bag, the inside of his thigh, his cock.

He releases the briefs, letting them go slack again.

Before he stands up to go back to his room - find some release there, jerking off to the memory of this display - Dean fondles Sam's mounds a little, brushes the pads of his thumbs across mommy's engorged nipples, then leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth.

One day he'll be able to touch his mom like this when he's awake, he tells himself. Holding this thought, Dean gets up and walks away.


	4. Getting a taste

Dean and his mommy have become inseparable, to the point where Dean's chest literally aches when he's away from him for too long, at school, in boxing training, with friends, or those times when his parents (the lovebirds) would go out on dates, or spend some alone-time together.

It's the reason why weekday afternoons are now near-sacred to Dean, it's his time with mommy, before he gets busy with homework, or before he gets picked up, and dropped off to training or to see his friends.

Dean doesn't hold back during those times: He doesn't stop touching his mom, hugging, fake-wrestling, horsing around, "accidentally" touching Sammy's breasts or groin or ass when he does, lying in Sammy's arms, or even on his lap, running his hands through mommy's hair, nuzzling his jaw, his neck, smacking kisses on his hands and fingers, rubbing their noses together and a few times, kissing him right on the lips. Mommy basks in the attention and love. _Of course he does_, Dean thinks. Dad told Dean that Sam had a tough childhood; his father was mostly absent and when he was not, he didn't pay much attention to his kids, and Sam's mom was anything but warm. It's part of the reason why Sam is openly affectionate - overcompensating for a starved childhood and avoiding his mother's parenting model in the process. Unlike his parents, Sam prioritizes bonding with his family, and is programmed, not just to give love, but take love where he can take it; he's like a bottomless pit, always craving what he grew up missing. And of course, he worships at the altar of his husband and kids.

Besides, Dean is convinced his mommy was already his; he just has to ease him into the realization. And so far, his mommy is very responsive.

Right now, they were sitting on the living room sofa again, in their typical position, Adam in his mommy's arms nursing, with Dean half lying on top of his mom, practically straddling a thigh. With the way they're snuggled, Dean's own chest is squishing Sam's currently unoccupied breast.

Dean has convinced his mom to lose the shirt while he's nursing, saying things like "easier," "you run too hot mommy when you're nursing, this way you won't sweat in it," yadda yadda. Sammy would still keep his bra on, and just free one boob at a time to feed Adam, but Dean is not complaining. As long as there's progress, he's good.

Right now, Dean's cheek is touching Sammy's collarbone skin-on-skin where his head is lying. Sam's scent is heavier, more filling. Two of Dean's fingers are absently circling the skin around where Adam's mouth latched on and suckled. Dean was lost in the sight before him. He's a visual person. He likes looking.

His mommy is relaxed, and from time to time, he'd turn his head and kiss Dean's forehead.

Sometimes when they're in a different position, when Dean is just laying a head on Sammy's shoulder, instead of half-blanketing him like he is now, he would gently knead Sammy's free milk-swollen breast as he watches Adam, or talks with his mom. Dean likes feeling up the nipple poking through the bra, caress it, play with it until it's fully erect. He'd feel feather-light shivers running through his mommy's body as he does. If Dean wasn't listening to every small response, registering every twitch and ripple, consumingly tuned in to his Sammy's body as he is, he would've missed it.

Sometimes, he would finger his Sammy's navel, or run the pads of his fingers along his treasure trail, from the navel and down to the rim of his shorts or sweats, then back up again. Sometimes, he just rubs his mom's belly in soothing circles, like his mom would do when he has a belly ache. Other times, Dean would just rest a hand near his mom's groin, his pinky rubbing absently, stroking against Sammy's genitals.

"I'm gonna miss those," Dean says now, as he touches where Adam's lips meet skin. "When you wean Adam off," he elaborates.

"Trust me, sweetheart, mommy won't. They're heavy, and they're painful sometimes."

"How long did I nurse on them when I was a baby?"

"Almost two years. You were weaned early, and you didn't give me any trouble at all. Unlike Mister Adam here who I think is gonna give me a hard time," Sam says, his tone full of love.

Adam is around 16 months old, so thankfully Dean will get to enjoy the sight of his mommy's C-cups for a bit longer. He can only hope Adam proves hard to wean off. He knows some kids keep nursing until the age of 9 or 10, especially in traditional households. His grandma once told him that his uncles and dad nursed for roughly 4-5 years, and that was considered too little time back then.

Sammy told him that his breasts will eventually get smaller when he stops breastfeeding, "I'll never be flat-chested again, your body changes forever, you know, after having children. But it won't be as big and full as it is now, thank God."

But Dean won't start mourning them yet.

"I don't remember," Dean says.

"What? Being breastfed? No one does, sweetheart."

_A pregnant pause._

"Mommy, can I get a taste?" he blurts out.

His mom just laughs softly.

"Please?"

"Someone's curious, alright. You're probably the big first kid I've heard of who's not terribly grossed out by the idea," Sam says.

Dean scrunches his nose in genuine bewilderment and looks up at his mom, "Why would I? It's food for my baby brother. It'll help him get big, like me. And you have a nice chest, mommy. Breastfeeding is beautiful." _Your titties are beautiful._

"Aww, baby, now you're waxing lyrical," Sam says, leaning in to press a peck on the tip of Dean's nose.

"So can I?" Dean insists.

Sammy huffs a breath, and "yeah, sweetheart. Why not?"

Dean starts to sit up. Sam looks a little surprised.

"What, now?"

"No, mommy, when I'm in college," he smiles. "Of course now!"

"Alright," Sam says, sits up himself and eases Adam off his breast for a moment. Dean helps him hold Adam while he unclasps his bra and takes it off completely.

Dean can immediately sense his mommy is feeling somewhat self-conscious at getting topless, and he avoids looking at Dean.

Dean doesn't understand why: Sammy's tits are very pretty, and his nips are hard and pointy, _they're fucking gorgeous_. If it were up to him, he'd make his mommy walk shirtless around the house.

Scratch that, if it were, his mommy wouldn't be allowed to put clothes on inside the house. He'd have him barefoot and butt naked 24/7.

When Adam is settled again, Dean doesn't waste a breath and swoops in to take the other breast in his mouth. He begins sucking right away, like he'd been thirsty for weeks.

He's on a high, right now, doesn't even believe he's getting away with this. Probably hurting mommy from the sound of it but Sammy's whimpers only excite Dean more, his dick now taking interest and pushing against his zipper.

He hopes his mom doesn't notice this side-effect.

"Easy, Dean," mommy says moments later and squeezes his shoulders with his free hand to get his attention. Dean looks up at him as he continues to suckle, his mouth still working, but Sammy's eyes are squeezed shut, and his breathing is coming out a little faster. He's biting on his lower lip.

"Don't bite the nipple, baby. Wait-Dean!" He pushes him away, suddenly. Dean pulls back a little, a thin line of spit connecting his mouth to the hard nip he just parted with. He regards his mom innocently.

"You're hurting mommy, De," Sam says.

"What should I do then," Dean asks, inching closer so now his lips are brushing against the bud as he speaks softly, "to make you feel good, mommy." His voice is vibrating against the nipple. He adds, "I mean, so you'd feel less pain."

"You're sucking too hard, sweetheart," Sam holds Dean's head against his bare chest, with one hand. "Open wide ... wider, honey," Sam says then pushes the tit back in. Dean latches on again, but this time keeps his mouth slack, waiting for more instructions. "Don't just take the tip. Don't latch on just the end, De. The nipple should be touching your tongue, not pinched between your teeth." Sam explains. _Oh mom, you're killing me here._

Dean begins sucking, as told. "Yeah, that's right, just put enough pressure there to get some milk out. Don't rush, and don't bite down. Th-that's good, baby."

Dean is enjoying this too much, his arousal at mommy's brand of accidental dirty talk is making him a little dizzy. He couldn't help the moans that just escaped him. His hips hitch too despite his efforts to control his down-stairs brain.

Before his mom suspects he's nearly bringing himself off as he does this, with all the moans and twitching, he takes his mouth away, and mutters "it's delicious, mommy," as innocently as he can. Then goes back and continues suckling.

He doesn't do it for longer though. His mom soon pushes him away, telling him to leave some for Adam, doesn't put the bra back on, but puts on the shirt. While he does, Dean adjusts himself so his arousal is not visible.

Sam looks somewhat uncomfortable. And when he's settled back, he doesn't pull Dean back in his arms. He just ruffles his hair and asks him if he's got homework to do. It's Sammy's polite, loving way of dismissing him.

Dean kind of expected this; when things become a little strange, like when Dean started making a habit of kissing Sam's neck or his jaw, or when he started placing soft pecks on his lips, wires are crossed a little for Sam, and he'd get momentarily confused or he'd falter, sted of reciprocating or thinking nothing of it.

But every time, he'd end up embracing the change in dynamics.

Dean knows his mother is enjoying all this as much as he.

The first time Dean kissed him full on the mouth, Sam didn't exactly kiss back, and asked humorously, "what was that for?" Dean just shrugged, not wanting to make it look like a big deal, like _he_ didn't know where the question is coming from, like something is up with Sammy if he's asking. Dean just told him, he "just felt like it." _Can't a son give his mommy an innocent, chaste kiss?_

The last time they kissed? It was his mommy who puckered up and presented his lips for kissing. Dean was ecstatic. He gripped mommy's waist and gave him a big old wet kiss. No spit was exchanged or anything, but Dean parted his mouth a bit as he kissed. He consciously pressed his lips a few seconds too long, the tip of his tongue prodded Sammy's sealed lips, then nibbled on his lower lip dragging it with him. When Dean pulled back from the kiss, Sam's lip slipped from his mouth with a soft pop.

The kiss was yummy. Dean had raised his game, and it can only get better from there.

So now, Dean decided he won't read too much into Sam's discomfort at the breastfeeding experiment; perhaps his mommy did realize on some level that it was slightly erotic for Dean. Perhaps Sam sensed his arousal, smelled it, or caught a glimpse of his growing bulge before he had a chance to adjust. Or not. His mommy is very innocent, and he worshiped him.

In all cases, Dean knows like he knows like he knows that he won't be denied this if he asks for it again (and he will).

Call it an Alpha hunch.


	5. What you don't know

**Dean is now 14 years old.**

Dean was steadily taking more and more from his mommy. Now, the kisses are wetter, the touches last longer, and he doesn't even need Adam to be hanging off a breast in order to go ahead and take out one of his mommy's tits and start suckling.

Months after the first time he tasted the milky buds, it's now a familiar thing for Dean, during their idling on the sofa, to slide his hand under Sammy's shirt or bra, and start fondling his breasts.

He can't grope his mommy between his legs yet, and he hasn't even suggested they spend their quality time in less clothing (like he'd like to), but he's getting there.

Already, he now gets away with placing an open palm low on Sammy's stomach, inching down bit by bit until he can push past the rims of his mommy's sweats and shorts, and graze his fingers lightly through his coarse pubic hair. Sometimes, he simply tugs down the waistband of his mommy's sweats some and enjoys the view.

When Sam's exhausted - thanks to two-year-old Adam, who spends his time trying his legs at walking, experimenting with different ways of face planting into the carpet, throwing stuff around, throwing tantrums too whenever he's bored, and always, always demanding more attention from his mommy - Dean would offer a helping hand, quite literally, by giving Sammy a head massage or a foot rub.

He's seen his dad do that sometimes, and he wanted in.

He likes giving his mom some relief but also show him that he too can be a caring Alpha. On top of that, he friggin' enjoys rubbing Sam's head to coax out those orgasmic sounds his mommy unwittingly makes when he does, he loves carding his fingers through Sam's silky soft hair, or kissing the underside of Sam's feet when he's done kneading them, and rolling and pulling the toes. Dean loves his mommy's toes. _Is there anything about this man that's not downright pretty?_

Dean even skimmed through a book at his school's library and saw an educational video online on how to give proper (medical) massages, and if you know him well, Dean doesn't read books, mind you, and educational videos are for ... well, not for him.

But what his mommy doesn't know is that he plans on taking this further into the realm of shoulder and back rubs, and one day, full body massages, where his mommy would be lying in briefs, or better still fully undressed, and naked to his gaze and at his mercy. This way, Dean has a legitimate excuse to touch and squeeze everywhere, without needing to distract his mommy during, or making a gazillion baby steps over the course of several months first.

Dean thinks he only has to tactfully play this one card right, and his mom might not even think it too odd to be laid out, face down on his marriage bed, legs splayed, holding his cheeks apart for his son, so Dean could massage his asshole ... you know, to "ease the tension there, release pressure, relax the lower back" and all that. Dean will find something to say, he's sure, to make it sound like it's anything _but_ erotic for him. He fantasizes about this scenario a lot.

He'll just have to wear a cock-ring while he's having this particular conversation so he won't blow his load too early - and yes, at 14, and interested in anything sex-related, Dean of course knows what a cock-ring is, though he's not of legal age to buy one if he desires. Dean's best friend, Benny, happens to be as obsessed with sex and body parts as Dean is, so they talk about these things all the time, especially during recesses at school where they can ogle girls and undress them with their eyes. Benny has popped his knot this year, a month after turning 14, and although he hasn't experienced a rut yet, his libido is often sky high.

An early bloomer, Dean has started to feel the heat too only this year. Before turning 14, scenting an omega's heat used to wash over him without reducing him to a boneless mess. Only his mom would make his blood run warm, and pool to his groin. Now, his reactions are becoming more intense, and spread out; he reacts to other omegas and betas, and his senses are becoming sharper.

It's all typical of Alphas who've presented very early; they don't feel much for the first two to three years after their knots pop, then suddenly, overnight seemingly, they feel everything.

Dad had, long ago, given Dean the birds and the bees talk, and explained to him that it's OK for him to get off in the privacy of his room or in the shower if he starts feeling the heat badly. In fact, it's physically draining and very unhealthy for an alpha to fight their heat, or force it to die out, if it hits hard. So he actually _has to_ do it.

Of course, kids younger than sixteen aren't allowed porn, or sexual activity, so they're expected to get off using their imagination and plain old friction techniques.

Sure, with his sexy mommy strutting around the house, looking gorgeous and edible, Dean has a loaded spunk bank, in his head, usually featuring mommy in different compromising positions, naked or in purple lace panties that he holds aside for Dean so he can fuck into him ... imaginary scenarios where Sammy always begs prettily, and tells him he's his.

But at "horny 14," Dean still needs the aid of skin mags - that Benny smuggles from his dad's ever-growing collection - and he also blows steam with girls in school. He flirts, touches, makes out with them behind the bleachers, groping them everywhere, pulling down the zipper of his pants, lifting up skirts, grinding cock against pussy through underwear, usually soaked wet with precome. Once he'd ejaculated several times with the same girl, he moves on to another.

He rarely stays in these mock relationships for over a couple of months.

And oh, did Dean ever mention that he's a jock? Yes, he's sexy as hell and he knows it. His grandma had once predicted that he'll be a heart-breaker, and he kinda is, Dean thinks, and he's not even 16 yet. But being athletic and strong for his age helps his case, and usually inspires girls to drop their panties for him. Not just girls his age, but girls who're a year or two older, and in school, that's a feat!

His sexual encounters with the girls are mechanical though, more often than not, and always without any emotional investment (though Dean has mastered the seductive art of sweet talking, which is mostly pretty-sounding nonsense that the girls obviously swoon to, but is the closest thing to "affection" Dean can give away to these girls).

He's not cheating on his mom, Dean reasons. He and Sam are a done deal. He has to use the girls, he tells himself every night, considering how often he has to calm down little Dean, who now springs up and stands at attention whenever the wind blows a little too strongly, or a whiff of omega in heat tickles his nose.

Ever since he popped his knot, two years earlier, around the time his baby brother was born, his mom hasn't really experienced heat.

After giving birth, Sammy was weak - some omega males suffer profoundly during conception and child-breaking, and to top this off, he was one of those omegas whose bodies stop producing certain hormones right after birth, giving him intense hot flashes, menopause-like symptoms specific to omegas, and pains, especially during sex. His mom had explained it to him last year when he asked him about his lack of heats.

Besides the regular post pregnancy medicines, Sam was put on a lot of omega supplements shortly after birth for hormonal replacement, and some of these automatically suppress heat as a side-effect, and it's a good thing, since in Sam's case, for instance, heat would've probably ravished and weakened his body even more.

Heats take a toll on omega bodies.

That two-year medicinal schedule was up last week, however, and he heard Sammy tell his dad that he'll have to start monitoring his cycle again. In hushed whispers, he also heard them arrange the logistics - in short, what they'll do with Adam and Dean during those three or four days when his mom's heat hits bad, and dad would have to ease its brunt (through frantic sex marathons, Dean assumes, and immediately feels like emptying his stomach but manages to swallow back the bile already rising in his throat).

When the time comes for it, Dean promised himself, he'll have to be around, do what he can to help his mommy, so it's his touch that would soothe him instead of his dad's.

Yes, Dean knows he can't make love to his mommy, not yet, but he can do other things, if his mom allows it.

Practicalities aside, the thought that his mom, because of his nature, can't handle heats until he's fucked open on a dick constantly makes Dean angry at the world. He can't stop thinking about it, right up until that day his mom started permeating a shockingly pronounced scent that signaled the nearness of his heat.

Right now, they're sitting at the dinner table, and his dad is holding conference after dinner to discuss their new routine during the following four days. Sam knows his heat will probably intensify some time tomorrow.

Adam would have to stay at grandma's during the interlude, Cas explains. Being a little over two years old now, he can't be without a present caretaker for too long, and Sam will probably be too drained during the heat to give him the attention he needs. At grandma's he'll have a line of helpers to cater to his every whim, and Aunt Naomi, Castiel's half-sister, who's still single, adores Adam, and had already said she'd love to babysit him at their family home for a few days.

Dean is so far silent.

It's like everyone around this table is pretending they're not essentially talking about freeing the house for his dad to climb his mommy and do him. _What's wrong with his family?_ They're sitting here, talking like they're making vacation plans.

Dean is already sulking, trying to hide his increasing annoyance that his mom looks glowing, cheeks blotched with red, and eyes bright with want. In a first, Dean feels like punching that look off of Sam, you know, _practice some right hooks on mommy's pretty, beaming face. And man, his right hooks are good!_

_Goddamn_, the violence of the mental image the thought inspires shakes up Dean. He gets a grip, puffing, quickly dismissing the ugly thoughts. He'd never intentionally hurt his mommy, or manhandle him, not like this.

According to dad, Dean will have to spend his time after school with Mrs. Harvelle, their next door neighbor, and her daughter, Jo, who's two years Dean's junior, and goes to the same school as Dean. Ellen will fetch them from school every day for the next four days, and bring them back to her house, where Dean will spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening, until Cas helps mommy take the edge off and he's settled and calmer, and it's time for Dean to go to bed. Other words for "Cas will send Dean away so he can fuck Sam into the mattress, and pump him with his seed."

_Cue bloody murder._

Dad will be off work of course - companies happily accommodate Alphas partnered with omegas (betas don't go into heat).

"What about my training?" Dean asks, knowing he'll already refuse the arrangement whatever it is, but pretending to be interested in the details.

"I'll drive you there, and back again of course," Cas says matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, well, no! Dad, I don't wanna stay away all day. That's just terrible. I'll be in my room."

"Not gonna work, buddy."

"I don't wanna hang out with either Mrs. Harvelle or her daughter."

"Why? Mrs. Harvelle is one of the swee-" It's Sam who speaks this time.

But Dean cuts him off. "She's a wench and her daughter is annoying as hell."

"Dean!" Cas bellows, "watch your language, young man."

Dean ignores him, and fumes some more.

Sam suggests, "would it be easier, sweetheart, to sleep over at grandma's, you know, watch over Adam too?" Dean hesitates.

His mommy extends a hand to grip Dean's shoulders, probably to calm him a bit seeing that he's getting flustered, but Dean shrugs it away.

If Dean has a say, he doesn't want Adam to leave the house to begin with. He friggin' adores his baby brother, and he'd hate to be away from him for that long too. _Four days, dammit_. _This truly sucks balls._ Under other circumstances, he'd agree to watch over Adam in a blink. The little chubby boy is funny when he half-talks, half mumbles nonsense and he's a cute as a button. He might have had Dean a little whipped as well.

But no!

So, "no!" Dean says stubbornly. Castiel's parents live on the edge of town, and to make arrangements to get Dean to and from school everyday while he stays there might be problematic, so thankfully Cas shoots down this idea too.

"You don't have much of a choice, buddy," Castiel says, with a finality Dean rejects.

"I. will. not. spend my days with Ellen and Jo," Dean repeats through gritted teeth.

"It's Mrs. Harvelle," Dad corrects firmly.

Then he and Dean's mommy exchange meaningful looks.

"Look, Dean," _Here it comes, and it's dad using his patronizing I-will-start-explaining-this-in-small-words voice_. _Exasperating_. "This is the first time your mommy is going through heat while you're alpha. And we don't know how strongly your body will react to that. Yet. And we don't want to make it too hard for you. I mean, did you go through a rut before? during this past year? Cos if you go into a rut, with an omega in heat in the same house, it's a problem. So ... did you, you know, get a proper heat before?"

Dean glares daggers at his dad, then looks away, refusing to answer, and grinding his teeth.

"OK, I'm guessing no! So the first time is always hard, and we don't want you to experience it during a school week, with your next set of exams so close. It's different from being turned on. You already know that. And if your mom's heat accidentally stirs your first heat, without relief you may get sick, buddy."

Dean knows that first heats are the absolute worst, he heard all the stories about people forcing themselves on others during, or burning up when they fail to find relief, and no, jacking off doesn't cut it with heats. An alpha can control it only for so long, so he must either leave the proximity of said omega or take the omega; if he's around an omega in heat, long enough, without release, like his dad said, he'll probably fall ill. It's why omegas take leave from work, or school, during heats; both to avoid being jumped, raped, or molested, and to spare alphas the pain. Some take suppressants and suffer their long list of side effects.

In many ways, betas are the luckiest.

"Come on sweetie, it's for your own good to stay away during the worst of it," his mommy, interjects, cheeks burning red, clearly embarrassed, now that they're openly talking about this.

"It's not for my good, it's for yours, mom," Dean says, and pushes his chair back and stands up. "Cos you're horny and you can't control yourself!"

"Dean!" Sam protests. But Dean's on a roll now.

"It's for him," Dean spits then points at Cas accusingly, "cos he's selfish too, and, and p-possessive and he can't friggin' compete with another Alpha." _It's for you, Dad,_ so _you can be alone with your bitch, _Dean wants to say, because it's true, and it definitely makes more sense than what he's babbling right now, and which even he knows is a load of crap.

But how can he make them understand the wrongness of it all, without sounding like a jealous lover.

Both parents flinch at his sudden antagonism, and are shocked at his rudeness.

"You know what, Dean?" Castiel says, voice raised, posture tense, now suddenly aggressive, his eyes hostile, like he's doing everything he can not to pounce on Dean, and strangle him. "You're not part of this conversation any more," he says, standing up and walking up to Dean. "The decision has been made. In fact, it's an order," he adds, poking a finger in Dean's chest.

Dean is a little afraid of his dad now, of the darkness that is seemingly gripping him, but he's not about to back down. So he squares his shoulder when his dad moves closer, and rises to his full height for effect. He's not that much shorter than his dad now. He'll probably outgrow him in a few years. But right now, his dad is towering over him a little menacingly.

Sure, his dad never hurt him before, but Dean so far has not really given him a reason to.

His dad is generally even-tempered, but if Dean's fair, Castiel's temper has never really been tested. Now that Dean thinks of it, he hasn't pushed his dad far enough to see if he's capable of _turning_. Dean is hardheaded and strong, but he's a skilled boxer, who's used to thinking on his feet and strategizing. He's not book-smart, like Adam or Sam, surely not, but in matters involving conflict, he's far from stupid.

He wouldn't take on an opponent blind.

And let's face it, if it comes down to _wolf country_ as they call it, brute strength on brute strength, wolf on wolf, his father can probably _easily_ take him, irrelevant of Dean's training.

And Castiel _**is**_in wolf mode now, with Sam's heat innervating his possessive streak, and his own heat stirring in response to Sam's and somewhat clouding his senses.

"Well, I'm not your soldier. And dad, when I'm done with school, I'm coming right back here," Dean says, his gaze defiant.

"And God help me, I'm breaking both your legs if you step through that door a single minute before I allow you to, Dean Winchester!" Cas shoots back, his voice venomous.

"Castiel!" Sam shouts. He comes to stand between them, back to Dean, nudging Castiel away. "How could you say something like this?" He pushes at his chest again. "... to our son?!"

Sam's angry now. _Good, he should be_, Dean thinks. Looks much better on him than that flushed, dreamy look he had a while earlier.

Adam who went from giggly to quiet, to subdued and flickering his eyes between them cautiously, baby brain unable to read the situation but sensing on a primal level that something is wrong, has now started wailing.

He probably caught the distress in his mommy's voice. Adam's crying has startled Dean, and immediately the boy felt guilty for partly upsetting his baby brother like this. He wants to take him in his arms, and shield him from this, including from himself, but his mom moves first, plucking Adam from his high chair, and putting him on his hip, bouncing him up and comforting him.

"Shhh, it's alright baby," Sam says, kissing Adam's face. "I scared you, honey. Shhhh, I know, I know, I'm sorry baby."

Sam looks back at his husband and son. Castiel breathes deep, then backs off from Dean, putting a lid on his rage.

He's still angry, but more in control now that his wife's shock at his words, and his toddler's wails sobered him.

"It's my fault," Sam says, in conclusion. "I should've planned this another way, and spared you all the pain. Taken suppressants or something. Instead of putting Dean through this. Dean shouldn't be made to change his routine. He shouldn't give up comforts for me."

_Oh, I'd do anything for you mom, but not this, _Dean thinks_. I will not authorize your violation._

At Sam's words, Castiel's nostrils flare and his jaw clenches tightly. "That's it," Cas says, voice like steel. "Dean, to your room!" When Dean doesn't move. "Now!" Cas practically screams at him, his voice gone all-Alpha, and Dean can't help but have an about-face, abandon his plan of fighting back and instead speed to his room, climbing up two stairs at a time. He can hear his brother lunge into another crying fit, as he does, getting worked up again hearing Cas shout at Dean.

In the kitchen, Sam continues to comfort Adam, and Cas reluctantly joins in after Sam gives him a hard gaze.

"Let's move to the living room," Cas says. They do, and when they settle down, Cas puts his head between his hands, and takes another deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"That was ... disastrous," Sam says.

"Yeah," Cas agrees.

"I can't believe you threatened Dean like that. Cas, saying something so cruel ..." Sam simply says. "I mean, I know you didn't mean it of co-"

"Suppressants, Sam? really?" Cas begins, cutting off Sam's lecture. Sam nods slowly.

Cas continues: "You're barely recovering from childbirth. Two years on and you practically pass out from exhaustion when it's bedtime. And what, now you want to inject your body with poisons? ... and why? Just because our son is a spoilt brat!"

"Don't call him that!" Sam says sharply. He huffs a breath, then adds, "Dean is the most sensitive kid I know."

"That, that looked sensitive to you? Back there? Come back to Earth, Sam. Dean, he's selfish and-"

"No! Cas, no! Stop it," Sam says and when Adam gets upset again, Sam bounces him a bit and speaks to him softly.

"Look Cas, Dean just hates to be away, that's all. Besides, he doesn't understand. Cas, last time my heat came on, he was barely 11 or did you forget that?" Sam says.

Throughout his pregnancy, Sam was taking supplements that tapered off his heats.

_Silence_.

"No, I didn't forget," Cas finally says, partly humoring Sam, obviously still riled. Then he declares: "You're too close to him."

"What?"

"I've been seeing it for a while, Sam. You two are just too close. He's clinging to you, and you're letting him," Cas says.

"I don't know what you're talking about ... how close is too close anyway for a mother and son, who're _also_ best friends?!" Sam says, genuinely baffled.

Cas huffs a laugh, devoid of humor. "Now he's your best friend?"

"Yeah, he is, Cas. And Dean's not clingy. He's considerate. Sensitive! ... despite his hard demeanor. He likes to pretend he's a hard-ass. But I know better. He has the decency to set aside time to spend together with his family. And I haven't met a kid his age who does this, let alone without being asked."

"For God's sake, he's too attached to you, Sam! Can't you see it? You're so wrapped up in each other. I mean, look at how you're rising to his defense."

"Wow, Cas. You're practically accusing our son of love! And you expect me to back you up?" Sam says, his tone mocking, hurt. "And what else? Blaming me for not trying to put a stopper on his feelings? Right. ... How dare he love his own mother? How very un-Alpha-like of him to be open about his feelings like the sweet child that he is?"

"That's not what I'm saying it, Sam, and you know it."

"Do I?"

_A pause_.

"What do you want me to do, Cas? Ask my son to back off when he tries to hug me, or kiss me? Push him away, perhaps? I don't know, maybe become my own mother, and hope he'll man up a little if I treat him like crap. Manhandle him and order him around, so he can grow to be _tough_. Huh, tell me. Cas, say it. What do you think I should do the next time Dean lays his head on my shoulder or spends an afternoon with me? Tell him to find another source of affection. Tell him to turn to his friends? Turn to strangers?"

Obviously, Castiel has hit a chord. So he quickly backpedals. He doesn't want to cause Sam distress; the point of imposing this separation during their heats was to give Sam a break, and avoid putting him on suppressants that would eat at his strength and good health.

His and Sam's looming heats are wearing them out, making them run hot and cold, and obviously, rendering Sam too emotional at the moment.

"You know, it's been a long day. So here's what's happening. Sam, I don't want to hear this suppressants talk again," he says. He softens a little, "please baby. For me," He then approaches Sam and takes both him and Adam, whose head is buried in Sam's neck, into at tight hug and puts all his love in it.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says, kissing Sam's forhead. "And you're right I didn't mean what I said to Dean. I wouldn't touch a hair on his head. I love him. I just-his attitude surprises me sometimes."

Sam nods, finally relaxing a little. And hugging Cas back with his free arm.

"For now, he'll have to do as I say, no discussions. It'll be a good way to teach him to reign himself in. If he wants to talk about things, we can talk. But not this time, not after how he reacted."

Sam feels he has to agree with Cas on this one. He loves his son to bits, but Dean's temper flares easily and for his sake, he needs to learn to control it.

So Sam nods, and he leans in to kiss his husband. When Cas opens his mouth, Sam quickly slips his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. They continue to taste each other, kiss, lick, bite each other's lips for several minutes, hunger growing, only stopping to catch a breath. When Sam gets a little worked up, his breath laboring, they both know they should stop before they lose control and pounce on each other, right here. Adam is still perched up on his mommy's shoulder. Sure, he's quiet; he picks up on the good energy and basks in it. But there's no need to scar the kid by taking this any further. So together they put him to sleep in his crib, after his mom feeds him one last time tonight, then lock themselves up in their room.

...

On the fourth afternoon of his banishment, Dean is still angry he was kicked out and could only speak to his mom on the phone briefly before he went to sleep. Instead of sleeping in his bed at night, his father has amended the plan, and on the first day, Uncle Bobby turned up at Dean's school to pick him up instead of Mrs. Harvelle.

As it turns out, his dad - sneaky Alpha - has decided Dean is to sleep over at Bobby's until his mom is out of heat. _Dick move_, if you ask Dean, but then _what does Dean expect from a man who's thinking with his dick these days?_

Uncle Bobby, an older maternal cousin of Cas, twice removed, told Dean that he'll also be his driver for the next few days. Dean is naturally taken aback by his dad's decision, but he knows he can't veto this one, not if he wants to avoid being maimed as per his dad's promise.

Besides, he loves Bobby, and would choose him any day over Ellen. At least, he'll get to spend some of his free time in Bobby's salvage yard, and maybe Bobby can teach him more about fixing cars. It wouldn't be the first time Dean spends a few days at Bobby's. He used to do it more often when he was 9 and 10. If he wasn't too angry, and missing his mom already, he'd even welcome the change of scenery.

When Bobby comes to school to take him home with him, he gives him a small duffel that his mom had filled with the essentials, plus a box of homemade double chocolate chip cookies, with a small paper plastered on the lid that read, "Miss you already, sweetheart. Love, mom xxx"

During breaks at school, Dean would sneak away with his current disposable "girlfriend," and make out and dry hump like there's no tomorrow. This always helps put his mind off things.

And now that this forced vacation from home is now near over and he should be seeing his mom later this afternoon.

As per the arrangement, it's not Uncle Bobby that's picking him up from school on the last day, but Ellen. She'll "kindly" drop him off to boxing training, his dad explained on the phone the night before, where he'll spend the late afternoon, then be home by early evening.

Castiel gave him the permission earlier to take a bus home following training. It's not strange. Castiel has been slowly easing Dean into a little independence, despite his mom's protests, including occasionally letting him take his own rides to places.

When his boxing session is cancelled, at a very short notice, Dean decides not to call in ahead and he just heads back early.

His dad will probably be on his way to grandma right now to pick Adam up, so that finally their life can go back to normal.

Despite his initial resentment at mom - and his resolution to boycott Sammy's delicious-looking cookies - he couldn't keep it up, and now he can't wait to throw himself in his mommy's arms, and lock lips with him until they both can't breathe right, and their lips are slick and swollen.

And of course, he ate all the cookies, inhaling every last crumb. And they didn't disappoint.

Throughout his break, Dean actively tried never to imagine what his parents could be doing; he knows what easing heats entail but trying to picture anything that could be happening between Castiel and Sam would constrict his chest, and make his eyes prickle.

Finally at the door of his house, he uses his extra key to let himself in. The ground floor of the house is empty, but nearing the stairs to the second floor, Dean hears sounds. Part of him immediately recognizes them for what they are. Moans of pleasure, coming from his parents' bedroom. _Where else_.

He lets his duffle fall to the floor with a muffled thud. Then Dean walks up the stairs very quietly. He's aware he may witness something he'll loathe and hate, but it's like he's hypnotized, and before he knows it, he's standing by his parents' ajared bedroom door. It was late afternoon, so although the lights were off on the upper floor, the room itself was illuminated by the soft reddish light seeping from between the half-closed window curtains.

And now standing at the door opening, he can see everything.

A very naked Cas is kneeling on the bed almost sitting on Sam's face, his cock wedged deep down his mommy's mouth. He is thrusting slowly. Sammy is moaning around his dad's cock. Through the gap between his dad's thighs, Dean can see the long arch of Sammy's neck, his chin and his swollen lips, stretched around his dad's thick girth. The same swollen lips he was dying to plunder only a few minutes ago, the same mouth he'd been fantasizing about for four days.

Sam himself is lying on his back, nude as the day he was born, feet planted on the bed, his knees obscenely spread wide, hips stuttering, a thick red dildo buried in his leaky hole, stretching the rim, opening him up - and Dean can see it all. His mom, with a cock fucking his throat, his body flushed and trembling with arousal, his full teets and his stuffed asshole exposed. Every few seconds, his mommy's toes would curl, his feet would just barely leave the bed and his soft belly pudge would tremble. Dean's trapped cock twitches and fights against its restraint; his arousal at odds with his mortification.

Sam almost gags a couple of times on the meat stuffed in his mouth, coughs wetly around it but soldiers on.

Sam's hands are curled around Cas' thighs, and his cock is standing up from a nest of curls. It bobs when he thrusts lightly into air, seeking friction that's not there. Head purplish and engorged, his dick hole is drooling precome like a leaky faucet against his belly.

The room is stuffy, like it hasn't been aired in a week, and it smells like sex and sweat, sickly so.

The bed his parents are lying on is messy, the linen already stripped and half falling off the bed; it's like a battle was waged there.

"Play with your nipples, go ahead Sam. Finger your nips," Cas says, his voice hoarse. His mommy whimpers, then slides his hands off Cas' thighs and brings it to his soft breasts, pinching on his buds, making them rock hard. Tugging them, dragging his nails over them, moaning again. Seeing this, Dean starts rubbing at his own cock, now hard enough to cut glass. He can't help it.

It makes him sick to his stomach to be getting off to _this_. But his mom is hot, and he's never seen him so raw, so vulnerable ... and open - figuratively and literally.

During the first few seconds of seeing this, pure scorching anger at his mom's betrayal warred with Dean's searing hot arousal, and the latter won.

"Does it feel good baby?" Cas whispers again.

"Hmmm."

Sam looks sick with pleasure, right now, dying to get off; rub his dick against something, anything. His back arches off the bed, hips jackknifes a few times, and his dick bounces heavily. When his thighs spread even wider, knees falling to the side, a spurt of slick oozing from his hole, making it even wetter, the movement and the wetness push the dildo out.

When it slides free, his mom's gaping hole is exposed, clinching on air, trying desperately to close, the relatively cooler air tickling the rim.

Dean looks as the hole keeps twitching, gaping and narrowing, breathing, like a tiny mouth.

The sight is killing him. He starts palming his dick, rubbing it, over fabric. Then he thinks to hell with it, opens his zipper and slides his hand inside his own briefs. He starts stripping his own length, up and down, quickly, punishingly. His lids want to close, but he can't let it; he needs to look.

The pain-pleasure of seeing his mom like this, being used by someone else, spread out like a $10 dollar hooker, yet having a full view of his glorious body, getting this craving satisfied, is filling him with a combination of loathing, rage, and maddening arousal. He wonders, as he watches Sam's hole twitch, whether one day he'll be able to take his mom like this. Then he wonders if his mommy is one of those omegas whose holes squirt when they orgasm.

Benny once showed him this porn clip on his ipad, where the male omega orgasms twice, once releasing his useless seed through his dick while he was being impaled on an alpha cock, and another squirting like girl, his male-pussy gushing a fountain of fluid in thick spurts ... erupting so hard, he was practically vibrating, bucking off the bed like he's being electrocuted, as his alpha tortured his nipples, and fucked his dick hole with a sound. The porn actor passed out from the pleasure and intensity of it.

Dean would give half his life to see his mommy reduced into a trembling, incoherent mess like this, thrashing, spraying jets of slick from his hole, after taking his cock.

His mom gags slightly around his dad's prick, trying to speak. Castiel pulls back. "What?"

"Fuck me," Sam croaks weakly.

"Come again, baby?" Castiel groans.

"Fill my hole, Cas, fill me up baby," his mom says, sounding filthy and wanton. _Like a whore, Dean_. _Your mom is a whore, for Cas, another Alpha._

"Is your asshole open enough for me?" It's rhetorical. His mommy's delicious pucker is stretched loose.

"Oh God Cas, yes. I'm so wet and open for you baby," Sam hisses, chest rising and falling fast.

Castiel moves down the bed, his back still to the door and Dean. His parents are still oblivious to his presence.

He kneels between his lover's legs, throws the discarded dildo away, grips a foot in each hand, and pushes Sam's legs back, at once opening him and folding him in half. Sam's knees almost touch his shoulders, his bare feet in the air, toes spread. His ass is splayed obscenely.

Cas lines himself up then pushes in, his saliva-coated cock stabs Sammy's hole and in one hard thrust, Cas is balls deep inside his mommy's ass.

He growls like an animal, Sam cries out, his back arching, then Cas blankets him, and Sam burrows even deeper into the bed.

Cas, now lying face down between Sam's spread thighs, is chest to chest with Dean's mommy, their mouths breathing the same air, touching from forehead to groin. Dean can see where Cas' dick is buried in his mommy's ass, the knot filling up quickly ... ballooning ... with Sammy's rim red and impossibly stretched after eating up the fat knot.

"You okay, honey?" Cas whispers.

"Hmmm. Y-yeah, just please. Cas! Please."

"Please what baby?" Cas whispers again, playfully, punctuating his words with soft pecks to Sammy's lips. Sam breaths heavily for a few seconds, and Dean thinks his mommy's too gone to respond, then he hears it, a mere soft whimper. "Move."

With the words, Castiel gives Sam a hard thrust, rocking Sam's body backwards. The bed creaks. Then another. _Creak_. Slow, yet solid thrusts, that are driving the breath out of Sam's lungs. He cries and whimpers, but the sounds get swallowed up by Cas' open-mouth kisses. Cas goes slowly at first, kissing lovingly, sucking on Sam's lips, suckling on them, as he alternates between thrusting deeply into Sam and corkscrewing his cock slowly, like he's massaging the insides of his mom ... with his dick.

"Whose hole is this?" Cas speaks, his lips brushing Sam's spit-soaked ones. "Huh baby, who does this hole belong to?" Cas asks, his breathing ragged, circling his hips, then stabbing his cock inside Sam's ass.

"Yours," Sammy hisses, breaths hitching. "Yours, Cas." _Kiss_ "Only." _Kiss_. "Yours. All of me, baby."

Hearing this, Dean can't hold the tears he didn't know has filled his eyes. It was almost like a betrayal, and the sad thing is, he can't get himself to move, walk away from this. It's setting his body on fire, at once filling his senses with physical, dirty, earthly pleasure, and clawing at his soul and tearing his heart to pieces.

Cas grazes the backs of his hands along Sam's arms, then takes Sam's palms in his and raises Sam's hands over this head, stretching his arms, lacing their fingers together, holding Sam in place, and locking their lips. Then he starts pounding into Sam with abandon.

Soon his mommy is thrashing, trembling, screaming his moans into dad's mouth, sobbing, asking dad to give it to him in those moments when their mouths separate to breathe, asking dad to plunder him. And that Cas does ... until Sam is mewling and coming untouched between them.

When Dean hears the sounds his mommy is making as he reaches orgasm, he comes, his own orgasm barreling through him, his seed erupting into his shorts. He bites his fist to stop from crying out loud, as he continues to milk his dick with his other fist for every last drop, his tears still falling freely.

When he's done shooting, his mom's arms and legs go lax and his head falls back. He might have blacked out a little, Dean can't tell for sure. Cas sits up, holds on to Sam's ankles and spreads his legs impossibly wide. He continues fucking into him in the same punishing pace, and Sam takes it like a ragdoll, his eyes closed, mouth open, his tits, belly and soft cock jiggling with the movement. His body is rocked violently up the bed.

_Cas owns him, fucks him like he owns this body,_ Dean thinks and Sam gives it all to him; like a used toy, he's lying back, in a haze, and letting his body be consumed roughly ... violated.

With a loud groan, Cas comes too, shooting his seed deep inside his mommy, soiling his beautiful hole, and asserting his ownership yet again. He chest falls forward between Sam's outstretched arms. He blankets Sam. The he ties. And Dean can't stand there for a split second longer, can't watch them literally bond, tangled together, not knowing where one begins and the other ends, lying in each other's arms, cuddling, laughing softly, whispering or making out and trading the same breaths as they're glued together.

Now that would just be pure torture.

And Dean's just had his share of masochism for a whole year, thank you very much.

So Dean falls back, waddles to his room, his cock still heavy and hot, painfully sensitive, between his legs. He shuts his bedroom door, removes his soiled shorts, throws them in the laundry and steps into a fresh pair. He turns the lights off, then slips tiredly into bed.

His body is sated, still wrapping its head around this storm of pleasure that roared through him, like nothing it'd felt before, but there is a tsunami of pain in his chest. In a first, he suspects he might be delusional about how far he can claim his mommy, and the dark thought takes his breath away. He suddenly feels small and worthless. He usually dreams about his mom every night, the dreams soothing some of his needs and easing his unquestionable desire for Sam with intricately woven fantasies, with beautiful images of them together, married, bonded in every way. And every night, his mom sleeps in someone else's arms, drinking pleasure from someone else, promising his love and devotion to his father instead of him.

Also in a first, Dean feels sorry for himself.

His eyes begin to tingle again and he lets the silent tears fall. Under the dead weight of that mind-blowing (more like mind-fucking) orgasm, he can't fight sleep any longer. And as sleep washes over him, he secretly wishes it would end up swallowing him into its cocoon for good, propelling him into a deep darkness, where there's no pain or hurt or love to mourn over.

So Dean lets go and slips into unconsciousness, his eyelids drooping and his tear-streaked face rolling into the pillow.

His sleep is dreamless.


	6. Dreams, Blood and Tears

"That wasn't a big forest, Sammy," she giggles, "Don't look so scared."

I can finally see the family house far off in the distance, at last, and I hear birds singing. I release a sigh I didn't know I was trapping, my shoulders sagging, the terror that tightened my chest back in the forest losing its grip as quickly as my irises are catching the light of this otherwise bright day. The adrenaline withdrawal is making my knees go weak. And I know, now that the forest is behind me, that my fears are mostly irrational.

"But it was very dark," I insist to her, if only to save some face.

"It's grandfather's forest ... nothing to be afraid of," she says, voice bright and fearless, like always, eyes green with a little mischief. She lives for these moments of recklessness and adventure; plunging into them, both feet in, and with all her heart.

I hate and love her for it.

"Hey, what's over there?" I say stopping in my tracks, and holding her back.

"Hurm, sky. Trees. A squirrel-" she responds humorously, stating the obvious, never giving up an opportunity to poke fun at me some.

"To the west," I cut her off and nudge her shoulder, raise a finger and point to our left.

_Silence_.

"An unknown wind," I whisper.

"And the promised land," she says, suddenly gone solemn, gazing to where my stare is locked. My eyes flicker over to her. I watch her and that look on her face? It's as if the howling wind is calling her name. Her green eyes are glistening. In the light of day, the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks stand out. She's so beautiful. I gulp audibly, hold her hand, lace our fingers together and tighten my grip.

Sometimes, when she scares me, I cling to her.

A moment later, her hands wriggle free anyway. She slips from me. "Aren't you coming, little brother?"

And suddenly she's so far away from me, out of reach, golden locks blowing away in the breeze. I know what's coming next and I start to panic.

She walks towards the wind.

"No, wait. Don't go. Stop. Wait, Mary.

... MARY!"

Sam jerks awake, as his own hoarse voice tries to tear its way through the veil separating dream and real world - he comes to, with a sharp intake of breath. He's covered in sweat and tears. It takes Sam a few minutes to find his bearings. He can still feel her, like they were actually together again, like she was real. He can smell her and God, he misses her so much his heart breaks. He is too afraid to stir, or blink or inhale a little sharply lest the memory of the dream - of her face - may elude him. He wants to hold on to it for a little longer, with all his might.

He remembers his own voice from the dream, pleading with her not to leave him alone, and more tears fall.

_Sam, Sam. _The litany continues. "Sam!" Someone is speaking to him, but their voice feels like it's being carried from miles away. Sam is still in his head, tears pouring, trickling onto the pillow on which his head is laid. He's still naked; after all the love making, he was too spent to move. Until he woke up a minute ago, Sam hadn't even realized he had drifted off.

Suddenly, a weary-looking Cas comes through the bedroom door, looking a little perturbed. So it's Cas who called for him, Sam thinks. "I went checking on Dean, and he's in his bed, but he looks ill and he's not waking up," he declares.

Sam immediately jumps off the bed, all traces of his dream - and the nostalgia, longing and sense of loss that came with it - vanish. These feelings are now being replaced by dread and fear. Sam stands up too quickly, his vision swims. But he grips the night stand to steady himself, then without wasting another second, reaches for his sweats.

"Easy, Sam," Cas says quickly. "The boy's breathing, he's probably alright. He's just feverish I think, and out of it," Cas adds, seeing how distraught his earlier comment has made Sam, who now looks as pale as a white sheet. _Damn_, he shouldn't have scared him like that.

"We don't know that," Sam says sharply, quickly throwing a t-shirt and sweat pants on, going commando. "For all we know, he took a hit to the head in training and he's sustaining a serious injury. If he's unconscious-"

"I didn't say he's unconscious, Sam! Not exactly." Cas says as they both pad hurriedly to Dean's room, Sam still barefoot.

Once inside, Sam runs to his son's side, and starts patting Dean all over, looking for any sign of injury. He slides away the covers, to take a better look, searching for bruises, or breaks, feeling Dean's neck, skull, chest, wrists, legs and feet for breaks. Sam's touch less frantic, more clinical now. Dean is sleeping in his boxer briefs, so Sam doesn't have to remove any clothing. Dean doesn't protest or so much as wince in pain when Sam prods with his fingers.

Sam lets out a huff of breath. "Nothing looks broken to me Cas, no bruising ... Dean, honey, wake up. Dean!"

Dean's chest is wheezing, though, his face is tinged red, and he only stirs and his head lolls fitfully when Sam tries to rouse him. Sam can also feel the tremors going through his son's body now, so he pulls the thin covers over Dean.

Sam himself is now breaking in cold sweat.

"Cas, quick, bring me the extra blanket from Dean's closet," Sam says. Then gently, "Dean, sweetheart, you're scaring mommy here. Come back to me. Open your eyes, come on."

Cas throws the extra cover over their boy's shivering body. "I told you Cas, I told you, a million times over, these boxing classes are dangerous. They should stop. Dean could be sustaining a head trauma ... g-god forbid ... a concussion or internal bleeding, or-or something _much worse_. God, I'm never letting him go back there again."

"Don't you think his coach would've called if something bad went down?"

Sam ignores his husband's attempt at reassurance.

"Dean! Dean, honey." Sam is losing his grip fast.

"Sam, just breathe, I highly doubt De's in any mortal danger. Baby, he's woozy, but I bet it's just a fever, that's all."

"_Just_ a fever?"

"I mean, if he were injured, it would-" Sam gives him a murderous look, and Cas lets his words die out. He knows better than to argue any further with Sam when his wife is in this viciously protective mode, and let's face it, he's worried too. "Alright, I'll go give Coach Hendrikson a call and see if Dean's taken any hard punches to the head. Or if he fell or something. Let's hope not though. Maybe the kids sparred. Check his temperature until I'm back, Sam."

Minutes later, Cas returns. "There was no training today, it was cancelled."

"It's 102," Sam says, stomach churning.

"So a boxing injury is ruled out then," Cas says.

Sam is still trying to lure his lethargic son into consciousness. He climbs into bed with him. Some of the tension leaves his shoulder now that he knows something like a head trauma, a hit to the kidney or heart, or internal bleeding are off the table.

He's still dead worried though.

"I wonder where he'd gone to then? Why didn't he call? Do you think he might have come home early, and sneaked past us?"

"Here! His eyes are fluttering open," Sam says excitedly, not paying one bit of attention to Cas' musings. "Come on sweetheart, wake up for mommy, love. Yeah. That's it, beautiful. Show mommy those gorgeous eyes."

First, Dean becomes aware of murmurs, whose intensity ebb and flow. They scratch their way into his brain.

His head still feels like a brick, his lids heavy and tightly sealed, his breath short, and his brain is groggy. His chest, for some reason, is whistling.

He realizes he's lying in his own bed and the murmuring belongs to his parents. He forces his eyes open in response to his mommy's voice - it takes a few tries, but the room finally comes into view.

His mom is propped up against the headboard, lying beside him in bed, with Dean's head in his lap. Sam's face is hovering over his. His mommy's soft hair is falling like a curtain around his face, and his brows are knotted together in concern.

Dean looks back at his mom through droopy eyes, then past him to his dad, standing at the foot of the bed, and both look worried.

_What's the big deal?_ Sure, he feels like roadkill. But Dean doesn't understand all the fuss.

His mom begins caressing his cheek. "Hey," he says, with a small smile.

Dean just flutters his eyes; he's finding it hard to both keep his eyes popped open and get his mouth to work and form words.

His throat is parched.

His mom feels his forehead again, then lays his palm against Dean's cheek and asks softly, "how are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Water," he says, and Cas runs out and comes back with a glass of water. "Fetch some paracetamol, Cas," Sam says, and his mom helps Dean sip on the liquid, and then after, swallow the pills.

"W-what?" Dean says when he's done, can barely speak around the lump in his throat. His voice feels week when he asks, "what's wrong?"

Cas sighs in relief, now that his son is talking, then starts explaining.

"You're just running a fever, baby boy," it was Cas' turn to speak. "I found you here looking like death warmed over, fast asleep. Naturally, your mom and I got worried. Ehm, we didn't feel you come in."

_Of course you didn't_, thinks Dean with a tinge of bitterness, _you were too busy fucking each other stupid_.

"Your cheeks look flushed, and you were groaning in pain when we first tried to wake you up," Sam says, then his voice breaks as he continues. "You wouldn't wake up baby, no matter how hard we nudged. You scared me there, sweetie."

His mommy looks consumed with concern and nothing like the wanton slut moaning in bed earlier. He leans in to place a few feather-light kisses on Dean's nose, and the corner of his mouth. He'd turn his head away ... from the lips that were wrapped around Castiel's cock ... but he's too damn tired to move. So he settles for recoiling, stomach turning like he'll throw up.

"Let's put some fluids into him, Sam," Cas says, a shadow of discomfort flickering through his face at the intimate kissing.

Cas also hates that _anything_ that goes wrong with the world can somehow impart a touch of guilt on his wife. He can see it, like it's Sam's fault Dean has fallen ill.

Castiel of course - and he knows Sammy is probably thinking it too - is mulling over the possibility that Dean's body got affected by Sam's waning heat once he came back home; the remnants of the intense, electrifying wave of omega arousal that hit Sam like a freight train, following a nearly three-year-long dry spell, must have shaken the young alpha up a bit.

If it's the case, then as the remains of Sam's heat subside and die out during the night, Dean will automatically get better, probably perfect by morning.

"Do you want anything to eat, darling?" Sammy purrs, still caressing his cheeks.

"No," Dean croaks. "Not hungry."

"If his fever doesn't let up in a few hours, I'm driving him to the ER," Sam turns to Cas saying, his voice becoming suddenly no-nonsense.

"Let's just wait and see it through the night. Give the pills a chance to work. He'll be Ok, I promise," Cas says, leaning more and more towards the idea that this is caused due to Sam's heat.

Sammy is being a drama queen, Cas thinks.

Sure, he's a little worried about his son too, but now that Dean's up, there's no need to be frantic about it. Besides, Cas is due back at work early tomorrow, and as much as he wants to make sure his son is fine, he also wants to have some rest in order to be useful for himself and everyone. Following four days of barely leaving the bed, keeping his Sammy satisfied, orgasm after another barreling through them, Castiel wants to collapse into a restful sleep.

"I don't think I can wait all night," his mommy says, voice hard.

"We'll see what happens, Sam ... I'll go heat up some soup, you stay with him."

"Get me the baby mo-oh, scratch that. Worry over De is making me stupid. Forgot Adam's not here."

This gets Dean's attention.

"Adam is not back yet?" he asks, clearing his throat, which is still scratchy.

"Not yet, sweetheart," his mommy says.

"I was about to go out and pick him up, De, when I realized you don't look so good," Cas explains. "Sam, I think I better call mom and Naomi and ask them to take care of him for one more night."

"You better, yeah. God knows I miss the adorable pipsqueak but Dean needs me more right now." Sam says, without hesitating. "Not leaving your side until you're 100 percent all right, sweetie," he says to Dean, placing a chaste kiss on his mouth. Castiel grimaces, but he doesn't comment; he knows better than to take Sam on this now.

Dean doesn't believe Sam just kissed him with the same mouth that was slurping up come from his father's cock. _Yuck!_ If they french kiss, Dean would probably taste alpha semen. _Double_ y_uck! _

"I'm fine," Dean croaks weakly, roughly rubbing his mouth on his naked forearm to remove all traces of that kiss. There's still some good old Winchester stubbornness left in him despite his condition, and he still doesn't want to be around his mom right now, with the pain so fresh, and the memory of what he saw so close.

It doesn't help that his mom is showering him with affection. He simply can't dismiss the images that keep attacking his brain every time Sam touches him.

"No, you're not, buddy. You better listen to your mommy," Castiel says, and his voice is poison to Dean's ears.

_What the fuck ever,_ Dean thinks, but keeps his lips sealed.

It's one of those extremely rare times Dean feels his body is burning hot, not just from the fever, but from being so close to his mommy - and **_not_** in a sexy way. He smells nauseatingly like Cas, right now; the Alpha's scent is permeating through his mommy's body.

An Alpha scent cannot be washed away easily. It sinks into the skin, settles in it and it'll probably take a few days and several showers to fickle out.

To make it all worse, Dean catches a glimpse of his dad's fresh claiming mark on the side of his mommy's neck, and another love bite sitting low on Sam's collar-bone right above his chest.

Sammy's deep V-neck shirt is putting all these hickeys on display.

Dean wonders if Sam chose this item on purpose to show off his alpha's mark claims. _The bitch. _He's probably got more love marks, peppering his body.

His mommy is braless right now, the thin white t-shirt he's donning is thin, and thanks to his lactating breasts, Sammy's nipples are showing behind two translucent spots on the front. His mom's dusky as-good-as-exposed dark pink nipples poking obscenely through the material only reminds Dean of how Sam was finger fucking them earlier today as he writhed underneath Castiel in their marriage bed, his greedy, wanton hole fluttering and gaping, begging silently for cock.

The image makes Dean's vision go white all of a sudden. In panic, he sits up and he starts heaving, and then he empties the meager contents of his stomach. Thankfully his mom was right there with a bucket under his chin, which he'd fetched as fast as lightning, once the heaving started.

It's embarrassing as hell to throw his food back up like this in front of his parents, the man he loves least of all. And yes, his dad chose this minute to walk back into the room with the hot broth, just in time to witness his humiliation. But Dean's too drained to care right now. And at least he didn't get sick all over himself or Sam. _Small mercies_.

When he's done puking his guts out, his dad whips out a clean wet towel for Dean to wipe his mouth with, and then hands him more water. Dean takes a few gulps.

Before getting a chance to lie back down, Dean's suddenly snatched by two giant arms, dragged across the bed, and is being pulled snugly against his mom's chest. Dean lets out a small yelp, and finds himself sitting between Sam's spread legs, his back to Sam's chest. Sam's upright and leaning against the headboard.

Dean can feel his mom's groin against his lower back and his breath is one ear. Sam winds an arm tightly around him, and urges him to relax.

Dean stays stiff, however, and if he weren't too drained, he'd forcefully wriggle out of his mom's arms.

If you think that a mouth that was just overflowing with vomit is super gross and untouchable, think again, because Sam doesn't think twice before whispering, "come here," turning Dean's head back, and placing a quick peck on his lips. For some reason, his mother can't stop touching and kissing him in front of Cas tonight, and it's making Dean's cheeks burn. Dean rolls his eyes, and quickly rubs the back of his hand against his lips.

Cas gives his son this look; probably the man thinks Dean is turned off by his mom being extra schmoopy and overbearing. And he is, but for private reasons, and not because he wouldn't normally welcome this kind of attention to his lips.

To add to his mortification, Sam asks Cas to hand him the bowl of soup with the spoon, and very carefully Sam takes them, each in a hand, and brings a spoonful of the hot soup to Dean's mouth. "Come on, open up," Sam says casually, like spoon feeding his grown-ass 14-year-old son is the most natural thing in the world.

Again, this morning, Dean would've welcomed the cheesy gesture, but right now it makes him want to run for the door.

"No friggin' way," he says, and crosses his arms tightly, feeling trapped by Sam's giant arms bracketing his upper body. He's in fact sandwiched between Sam's torso and Sam's hands now holding the food right in front his face.

Cas is momentarily amused, what with Dean looking like a caged animal, blinking rapidly as he stares at the spoon like it's going to eat him alive. With all his snappiness, hard shell and strong opinions, it hits Castiel that Dean is still painfully young.

"Don't be a baby."

"No, mom, I'm being the exact opposite of that. Cos only babies are spoon-fed like, you know ... like babies!"

The fight is coming back to Dean now that there's something he can rebel against.

Sammy giggles; he's happy his son's attitude is back in force, it means he's alive and kicking, and strong enough to be a pain-in-the-ass. And God knows, Sam needs this. He almost suffered a stroke the moment Cas told him Dean's not waking up, back in their room.

He doesn't even want to recall the degree of panic those words stirred in him.

So he doesn't. And instead keeps torturing Dean with the spoon, which now Sam is pressing against a thin pair of tightly-sealed lips. Dean can grow up all he wants, or think he has, because to Sam, he'll always be his baby. And right about now, Sam needs to reassure himself his baby's here; the spoon-feeding is partly for him.

When his son opens his mouth to protest yet again, Sam uses the opening - literally - and shoves the spoon into Dean's mouth. Dean, of course, huffs and puffs but Sam eventually manages to spoon feed him every last drop.

Dean avoids eye contact with his father.

When they're done, Cas takes the empty bowl away, and moments later, Dean is fast asleep again.

Sam gently extracts himself from behind Dean. He goes to grab a quick shower. Cas keeps a vigilant eye over their boy during.

When he's all clean, Sam heads back to the room, and finds that Cas is already dozing off, head lolling on one shoulder. Sam takes pity on his man, walks up to him, places a soft kiss on his mouth to wake him up, then tells him to move to their room.

Sam himself peels the covers on Dean's bed, gets under them, and sinks into the bed beside his resting son.

"Sam, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Cas?"

Cas drags his hands through his hair. _Sam can be too much sometimes. _

"He looks better now, Sam. And baby, it's a small bed, and you're a Sasquatch. The boy needs his space."

"Not tonight he does."

Cas sighs heavily.

"Just come with. He'll be fine, want you in my arms tonight."

"Can't do, hon. I'm not leaving his side until he's out of the woods."

"He sort of is, I can sense that his fever is letting up already. And you must be weary yourself."

"I'm alright, trust me. You go get some rest, honey."

"Sam!" Cas says, voice colored with frustration.

"What?"

"What if it's the last of your heat that has caused this? Have you thought of that?"

"Of course, but my body is recovering by the hour, Cas, I can feel it. If my heat did cause this, being close to me won't make him any worse than he is now. And if it's not, being watched over by mommy will certainly help him sleep better."

"He's already fast asleep."

"Cas, please!"

"God, alright," he says, scrubbing his face with his hand. "You two are unbelievable, you know that?"

"We are, and you love it, come here you big baby and give me a proper kiss." Cas's shoulders slump in surrender, then he walks up to the bed, and presses their lips together. Cas kisses softly at first, then he picks up some speed, curling a possessive hand around Sam's neck, licking at Sam's sensual lips, nipping the upper lip, then suckling on it, plunging his tongue into Sam's mouth. He catches his husband's tongue and practically slurps it, the kiss quickly turned sizzling hot and sloppy. _God, Cas can never get enough of his wife. He often wonders what he's done right to deserve him_. Sam's head falls back, a little, his lips quirk into a smile, mid-kiss, then he moans into Castiel's mouth and pushes at his chest gently.

"Go, Cas," Sammy whispers sweetly. "Before we start humping like teenagers in our son's bed."

Sam adds playfully that they've had enough of that for today, and Cas, begrudgingly, agrees. He's beat.

"Ehm, Sam," he begins as he leaves the room, before he shuts the door. He doesn't know why he feels he needs to say this but he does. Before he hesitates, it comes out of his mouth, but he doesn't meet Sam's eyes as he speaks. "Just ... just don't take your clothes off while you sleep here, okay?"

"Woah, what? Why the heck would I-Where is this coming from, Cas?"

He doesn't know how to respond to this; clearly not thinking past his request.

"Cas?"

"I don't know. Forget it. It's a stupid thing to say. Go to sleep. I'll drop by to check on you both before I head out tomorrow."

"Yeah, you do that, Cas," says Sam, giving his husband a tight-lipped smile. Nodding his head, he adds, "Love you, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Love you back!"

...

Sam wakes up, at 6:00 am, curled around his son. He checks Dean's forehead and it's cool, and his breathing is even. They're okay now, _phew_. He allows himself to relax now. His husband is right; his heat is the culprit.

Sammy is still tired, but something has made his body restless, perhaps another dream that he now can't remember because he can feel the shadow of something lurking, and the memory of the other dream is re-surfacing, now that he's not as crazy worried about Dean as last night.

Sam pads to the restroom, splashes his face with some water, brushes his teeth, stares at his tired reflection in the mirror for a minute, runs his fingers through his unruly morning hair, finally sighs heavily and moves to the kitchen to brew some coffee.

Cas will probably be up any minute now. Cas always wakes up at un-Godly hours because he likes taking his time getting ready for work. Sam's hardworking husband is always first on his desk, and sometimes, the last to leave the office. When Sam knew him, Cas was being groomed to be his older brother Michael's right hand at their family-owned law firm. Cas had began studying law only to drop out and shift interests to marketing and PR - that was after he'd insisted on partnering with Sam, of course, and his father had told him that there was no place for him in the family business if he insisted on Sam, or their life. For Cas, there wasn't even a choice there. Sam was it for him. It seems like a lifetime ago when this happened, and although Cas and his father made up, Cas refused to change horses again, and stuck with his career choices.

Now, Cas is one promotion away from being the PR director at his company, a medium-sized enterprise. This promotion carries the promise of a much better pay and traveling opportunities and Cas is working so hard to get it. Sam is immensely proud of how dedicated Cas becomes when he's set his sight on something, though for long, Sam hadn't appreciated spending long afternoons and evenings on his own, or taking care of a kid, alone, thanks to Cas's sometimes ridiculous working hours.

Sam won't lie, he's pulled his share of tantrums in the past, ones that would make his hot-blooded son proud. He sometimes resented how demanding his husband's job could get. Sam is generally supportive and all, but sometimes, even for a family man like Sam, it's hard when it all falls on him; the cooking, cleaning, taking Dean to and from school plus his training, helping his son with his homework and projects, and now he does all that with a baby on his arm. Cas helps when he can, but naturally, with a full schedule, it's not near enough.

That being said, in the last couple of years, with Dean stepping up, and becoming a source of comfort for Sam, the brunt has been eased. He's still doing most of the work in the house - being the stay-at-home wife between them and with Cas providing - but it's now different. Now, he looks forward to the afternoons with his son, to their talking, to having his son's head on his lap, and to basking in all the love Dean has started to provide.

There was a phase between Dean being a cute and adorable baby, and him being a loving teen again, when the boy was snappy, dismissive of his mommy's affections and sometimes downright rude and hurtful. Sam has endured this dark phase, alright, trying to be patient as he could.

He got that his kid was growing up and fighting for a semblance of independence, but Sam was not happy.

He felt he was losing his kid - to his friends, to his obsession with boxing, to the first signs of adulthood - and Sam knows he's being selfish, but he loathed it. When Sam would try to kiss Dean, or take him out for an evening of fun "mommy and son quality time" and his Dean would recoil or refuse, Sam would genuinely feel hurt; sometimes he'd even cry in his room like a jilted lover, and he'd judge himself for it later, reprimand himself for being too attached.

But now, with Dean being everything to him again, not becoming embarrassed to be "joined at the hip" anymore (regardless of what his friends at school say), and not holding back his affections), Sam's in heaven.

His son's newfound passion for their relationship, and their growing intimacy, has breathed life into Sam.

Sometimes, Sam feels he can't get close enough - feels like he wants to burrow inside of Dean's skin, and sink into him ... He wishes he could take Dean back into his womb, in order to keep him safe, sound, nurtured and part of him for good.

And even though Sam dreams of the day when his son would grow up and start his own family, he honestly can't imagine being away from Dean for more than a day or two, let alone giving him up to someone else for life ... let alone hand him over to a beta or an omega who probably doesn't deserve him (and no, Sam doesn't even need to see who Dean would end up with to know that they don't and won't ever deserve Dean's beautiful heart or million-watt smile).

The sun shines out of his son's ass, _dammit_, and anyone would be immensely lucky to get him! If it's up to Sam, his son wouldn't mate with anyone before he's 40. He's a suffocating mom, so? _Bite him._

Sam smiles to himself.

"Someone looks relaxed this morning," Cas says, walking into the kitchen, already suited up. "And oh, the coffee smells good. Morning, honey," he adds and swoops in for a quick kiss.

"Morning."

"I dropped by Dean's room, thought you'd still be there too. He looks much better," Cas remarks.

"He is, I think. But I'm letting him skip school today."

"Right before the weekend, well, lucky him! That's three off days in a row. Some of us don't have the luxury, sick or not. Which reminds me, I'll probably be staying late today. Don't wait up. From the deluge of incoming mail, it looks like the pile of pending work is high up to the ceiling. I'll have a tough day ahead of me."

"Aww, I'm sorry to hear that, come here," Sam says and pulls Cas into a quick hug.

"I'll call Naomi, and see if she can be a good soul and drive Adam back here later tonight. If she can't, do you mind picking him up yourself?"

"Sure."

Sam begins preparing some sandwiches for the road for his hubby, breakfast on the go, while Cas scrolls through his phone, probably catching up on his mail already. Cas usually drives for at least an hour to get to work; and in bad traffic, you can add an extra half hour for good measure.

"Cas," Sam says. "Remember Mary?"

Cas raised an eyebrow. "Erm, yeah. Well, from you mostly. I mean from your stories."

Silence. Sam's face looks sombre, all of a sudden.

"What's going on, honey? Who do you ask?"

"Nothing," Sam says. "Remind me to show you a picture. Ehm, she looks, ah looked, a bit like Dean. The, ehm, grass green eyes." Sam's voice cracks. "The f-freckles. Even the temper, ha! She was so goddamn beautiful, Cas. I wish you'd seen her, man." Sam's tears are running down his face now.

"Sammy, come here baby," Cas says and takes his wife in his arms, and Sam starts sobbing softly. For the life of him, Cas has no idea where this is coming from, or why Sam has suddenly decided to dwell on his sister's memory. But he doesn't need to understand, except that his wife is downcast right now and he needs him, so he holds him tight until Sam's calm again. Perhaps it's lingering emotions from the heat, who knows.

When the waterworks are done, and Cas is off to work, Sam's head feels weary, so he goes back to Dean's room and crawls into bed with him.

...

Dean wakes up to a heaviness at his back, and a solidness wedged between his legs. Spatial recognition takes him a moment, then he realizes he's in his bed, with his mom spooning him.

Sammy's arms are snaked around his waist, one palm sits low on his naked stomach (he's still in his boxers), and Sam's nose is buried in his hair; Dean can feel his warm, even breaths. Sam has pushed one of his long legs between Dean's own, and so their limbs are now tangled together. And hold the phone, Sam is shirtless from the feel of it; his boobs are squished against Dean's upper back, and Dean can sense some wetness, probably from his mom's hard and leaky nubs. He can feel those too, poking gently.

And of course, Dean - like the typical teenager he is - has popped some wood while sleeping, and Sam's proximity is not helping in this area. The covers are now bunched around their feet, so there's no where to hide either.

Trying to extract himself without rousing Sam is difficult, but no one can accuse Dean of not trying. Of course he tries and fails miserably, and mommy stirs, and pops his eyes open. Sam takes his arms away from beneath Dean, and sits half up, propped on an elbow. He gently turns Dean so he's lying on his back and he takes a look at his boy. Dean's dick is at full mast, and his face heats up, because mommy will see his wood right about now.

But Sammy's focused on his face and eyes for now, and once Dean meets his gaze, Sam shoots him a blinding ear-to-ear smile, dimples and all. "How's my boy this morning?" Sam says, carding his fingers lovingly through Dean's hair.

"I'm OK," Dean says, gulping, and turning his head away. He's super embarrassed, and still can't get himself to go easy on his mom; he just can't with what he saw last night. His gaze catches the clock on the side-table, and it's way past the time for school. He guesses his mom has decided he's off. See, today of all days, Dean wouldn't have actually minded school - if only to get away from his mom, get his mind off things and ask his "girlfriend" out after school, you know, to get lucky ... to blow off steam. _Always to blow off steam, nothing more_.

"You look it and I'm glad ... oh God, Dean, I was so scared baby," Sam says, tilts Dean's head back, and attacks his mouth. Between them, kissing on the lips is on the table now, but Sam's kissing right now has an edge of hunger to it that wasn't there in earlier kisses and which does nothing to help with his lingering phallic problem, down there between his legs.

Despite the temptation to reciprocate and deepen the kiss, Dean pulls back, burying his head further into the cushion to get away from his mom's mouth. But his mom's face is right up in his, and their lips are still almost touching when he manages to finally free his now throbbing lips from Sam's own.

His mom's gaze is locked with him, and Sam immediately senses his son's flinching. "What? What's wrong, Dean?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

And before Dean gets to respond, his mom's eyes accidentally flicker lower, and he catches the sight of his son's prick tenting his boxer briefs obscenely. Dean's face flares with heat and his cheeks are now tomato-red.

"Oh," Sam smiles, amused. "Erm. That's nothing to be shy about, sweetheart-"

"MOM! Just drop it," Deans says, looking away mortified.

"I will if you give me a big old kiss, woody wood pecker."

"Jesus, MOM!" He pushes him away, attempting to get up. Sam steals another kiss before he releases his son, not catching on the real reason why his son is extra snappy and a tad bit aggressive. Sam probably think he's irritated only for being caught with a stiffy, so he leaves him to be, without any more torture, saying he'll be at the kitchen, "preparing second breakfast." Dean doesn't get the joke, huffs a breath then sneaks into the bathroom for a shower, in which of course he gives some relief to Little Dean.

When he's done, he pops into the kitchen - he really wishes he could go on a hunger strike if only to avoid being around his mom, but he's just too damn hungry to make any such protests right now. His stomach is protesting noisily enough for both of them, though the bottomless pit that's his stomach has a different agenda.

He plops into a chair, and his mom puts a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages in front of him. As he grabs his first bite, a digital thermometer is pushed into one of his ears by his mom. "Hey," Dean yelps.

"Gotta double check, sweetheart." The thing beeps, and his mom smiles when he reads it. "All back to normal." He ruffles his hair.

"Stop doing that!"

"Doing what?" His mom asks, confused.

"Touching me, alright? Stop it," Dean snaps, then digs his fork into his food and starts eating.

"Well, I thought ..." His mom's voice trails off; Sam's bewilderment at the change of attitude clear on his face. His brows knit together, and his face loses some of its brightness. He takes a chair himself, next to Dean. In his peripheral vision, Dean can see Sam gazing at him, probably searching his face for answers. Sam bites on his lower lip, then he finally asks, voice quivering, "sweetheart, are you still mad?"

"About what?"

"You know, cos you had to stay away, at Uncle Bobby's? I mean we talked on the phone, you and I, and the last time we did, you sounded like you're over it, so I thought-"

"Well, you thought right. I'm not mad. Not anymore. In fact, I don't care."

"Dean-"

"Can I please finish my food in peace? I've had a rough night."

Sam nods, sympathetically, but his face is dark and sad now. Silence descends on the kitchen room for a bit, until Dean takes the last bite, then his mom starts asking if he wants some tea, juice, an apple, asking him what he wants for lunch already, obviously desperate to make conversation.

"For God's sake, stop fussing, mom," Dean snaps again.

"What is wrong with you?" It's Sam's turn to get irritated, running his hands nervously through his hair.

"What is wrong with YOU? You won't leave me alone."

"I wanna make sure there's nothing you need, here. And you're touchy and I don't know why. Are you still not feeling okay, you know, from last night?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine! If you ask me if I'm fine again, I swear I'll start throwing punches!"

"DEAN!" Sam's nostrils flare, the color draining from his face, and his eyes start watering. "Just go. Okay? I'm sorry for caring."

Sam doesn't know what's up, but he thinks he has an idea. When Dean was away, he sounded "okay" on the phone but in reality, he was probably just missing them. Now that he's home again, he's back where he left off; shutting down after his hands were forced, or so he believes. Sam backed Cas, but he hates the fact that his son was made to take a break from his own home against his will. And he gets that Dean's angry.

Dean leaves the kitchen, then holes up in his room for a couple of hours.

When he comes back down, to the living room for some TV, he finds his mom there, sprawled on the couch in a dress, in the white dress he bought a year ago, and which Dean had only seen him wear once. He knows what his mom is doing; and no, he won't let Sam off the hook so easily. He friggin' tore his heart out, made him feel like he only has eyes for him, then stood silent as his dad sent him away, and then gave himself to Cas completely.

Dean walks into the room, like he hasn't noticed the dress, though he's sure Sam caught the initial surprise on his face.

"Hey," Sam says, to get his attention, then pulls his feet back to make some room for Dean to sit. Dean just makes a non-committal sound, and places himself at the other end of the wide couch.

"What's up, sweetheart?"

"Here to watch some TV," says Dean. He was oscillating between dying from boredom and biting his nails in frustration, back in his room. He flicks the TV on, and after some searching, settles on the wrestling channel. He likes wrestling. He'd like to take it up next year, besides boxing, and perhaps add a martial art to the combo.

Learning the art of combat does it for Dean, more so than group sports.

"Come here, Dean. Want you in my arms," Sam says, voice apologetic and hopeful, arms reaching out.

Dean gives his mommy a level gaze, then turns back to the TV. "No, I'm good, mom."

"Sweetheart, just talk to me."

Sam sits up, and scoots closer to Dean. Sam's intoxicating smell is right in his nose. The dress' skirt, which boasts a high slit, leaves Sam's legs and thighs exposed. And his mom is not doing any effort to cover up, letting the skirt's sides fall open and the dress already reveals Sam's strong arms and his back. His mom's inner thighs are not touching; not used to dresses, he doesn't remember to put his knees together or close his legs when he sits, and the sight of those legs accidently teasing him like this is making Dean's mouth water.

"There's nothing to talk about," he forces out, and avoids looking at the naked skin, or he'll lose it. He's willing his anger and resentment - his disgust at what he saw - to take over.

"Dean, please, don't shut me out like that. Not me," Sam says and takes one of Dean's hand in his own.

Dean quickly snatches it away, "I'm not ... just, just let me be."

Sam's puppy dog eyes start watering, and that's it, Dean can't have this anymore. He stands up to leave. Sam catches his arm. "Please don't walk on me like that. Not before telling me what's wrong."

Dean shrugs off his mom's touch and pulls away.

"I know it's the past four days. You're still mad at me. Fine, get angry at me, shout, throw those punches if you want, but don't push me away like that!" Sam says, eyes pouring. _Like he's the victim here_, Dean thinks. _The audacity. _

"What do you want me to say, mom? That I'm angry! Alright, I'm angry. But what difference does it make? You know what? A big fat nothing," he says then starts walking quickly towards the stairs, to seek the sanctuary of his room again, hide in his "cave."

"And stop pretending like you care that much!" he adds, as he starts climbing the stairs, his mom now following him.

At those extra words, Sam flips, from weepy to somewhat angry himself.

"Don't you dare say that, Dean. You of all people should know how much I care about you!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, really!"

"Didn't look like it when I was forced to hole up at Bobby's, while you were here ... aargh! You know what? Just get away from me."

When he reaches his room, Dean goes in and attempts to close the door behind him, but his mom holds it open, then pushes back and squeezes himself in.

"I'm not going away until we resolve this!"

"There is _nothing_ to resolve."

"So what? You're gonna cut me off? Stop talking to me, again?"

"Maybe."

"Yeah, well I won't let you."

"It's not up to you."

"God, Dean! I'm your mom! It's me! Look at me, you can't do this, not to me," Sam walks right up to him, as he speaks, face inches away from his own, and despite his height and anger, Sam feels small as he stands there pleading with his son, practically begging him to take him back. He can't bear this coldness, he can't let his son dismiss what's between them in anger like that.

They're more than mom and son, they're ... soulmates.

"You're being too hard on me. And for what, Dean? For pushing you away so you won't get hurt. You saw what happened to you last night, and in case you didn't put two and two together yet, that fever was triggered by my heat."

"Bullshit."

"It's not, Dean."

"Stop blaming it all on that heat."

"I'm not. And I'm not lying. It _was_ all for you, and now you're being a baby about it, and trying to punish me for my biology."

"I'M TRYING TO PUNISH YOU FOR BEING A DIRTY WHORE!" Dean screams it at his mom. And he flinches at the words the moment they leave his mouth. It's too late to swallow them back.

Before he gets a chance to whip an apology, a sharp slap lands on his left cheek, and it burns. Neither parent has ever laid a hand on him, not like that, never. He freezes for a moment, so does his mom who looks as shocked as he is.

Dean's eyes prickle and suddenly a blind rage overwhelms his senses. His right fist clenches and he feels like punching ... his mom, or someone, anyone, anything. Before he knows it, his fist is raised, ready to land on his mom's face, it only takes Dean's mind a tenth of second to backtrack and decide, no, he won't - can't! - go there, can't hurt his mommy, and so changes course. Instead of jabbing his mom's face, he hooks his arm and his fist swings into the vanity mirror, right beside Dean.

His punch is solid, sharp, filled with hot rage, and the mirror shatters noisily on impact. His mom jumps, shouts his name. He's in a daze, and before he realizes it, he's rushing out of the room ... trying to get out of the entire house.

He's already downstairs, steps away from the door, when his mom manages to catch up with him. When Sam fails to force him to stop, he throws his weight at Dean's back, hugging him from behind, and they slump to the ground together, with Dean locked tightly in Sam's arms. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," his mom repeats over and over right in his ears, his face wet with tears and so is Dean's.

Dean suddenly realizes there's a throbbing excruciating pain in his fist, and when he looks, his hands are dripping blood, and there are at least a couple of pieces of glass still wedged in his flesh. He holds onto his wrist and brings his hand to his stomach, wanting to hide it, wanting to disappear himself, get swallowed by the Earth. The lower part of Dean's shirt will soon be soaked in red. He's angry at his mom, but he's also angry at himself, for calling his mom, "a dirty whore," for almost hitting him, and most of all, for loving him so consumingly it's eating him up inside.

His mom's litany of apologies doesn't let up. And now Sam is trying to grab the injured hand to inspect the damage, sounding teary and frantic with worry. "Let me see it, De. Sweetheart, you're bleeding. Let me see," he sobs. Dean holds his injured hand tighter to his body and doesn't let go. "Let me see it," Sam repeats, his tears soaking the side of Dean's face. Then Sam starts kissing his face, brushing his lips back and forth against Dean's cheek, nuzzling his neck, his ear, and Dean leans into the soft caresses and squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't understand how this man can put him together and break him like this, only to patch him up again.

Sam continues to cover Dean with kisses, desperate, open-mouthed, kisses that are wet with salty tears. "I'm sorry." He's kissing Dean's eyelids, the side of his brows, his cheek, he tilts Dean's head then places feather-light kisses on his nose, grazes his lips against Dean's lips, his chin, down to his neck, and his collarbone. His lips don't leave skin, grazes, pecks, nibs softly. "I'm sorry, please, there's so much blood Dean, please, you're killing me here sweetheart. Please, De."

Dean opens his eyes, and this is what he sees: his mom's hair falling over one side of his face, his mother's cheeks blotched with dark pink, and his eyes are tired and dripping with tears, lips red and swollen with kisses.

His mom locks their lips together again. When Dean starts speaking against his mouth, Sam pulls back an inch, to allow him to.

"I saw, mom," he says.

"Saw what, baby?"

"I saw you and dad together. Yesterday."

At first his mom doesn't look like he gets it, then Dean sees the exact moment when he does. His eyes widen a little, and his mouth goes slack. They remain speechless for some moments, then his mom nods his head, and more tears fall. "Okay ... Okay, I get it. I'm sorry, Dean."

And Sam doesn't even know what exactly he is apologizing for; what his son saw, or the fact that what he saw happened in the first place? He won't explore this right now, he tells himself, he just needs to make sure his son is fine, that he hasn't broken any bones, that nothing cut into muscle or injured nerves. His son's fist is sturdy from training, but still, he's broken skin, and there's a lot of blood, and Sam's getting nauseous with worry. He'll even punish himself for that slap later; or accept whatever punishment Dean wishes to inflict, whatever it takes for Dean to forgive and hopefully forget.

"No, you don't, mom. You don't get it."

But Sam does, he thinks. It would be disturbing for anyone to see his parents together like _that_, and being so close to his mommy, Sam knows it must have been harder on Dean. ... _Or what if?-Could it be? _

Then the possibility hits him, and he feels a little dizzy with it.

"Dean," he whispers. "Di-did it, you know, turn you on?"

Dean gives a little nod, and Sam buries his face in his son's neck. He feels like it's his fault somehow. It must be eating Dean up, he must think he's dirty and wrong for getting aroused from seeing his parents making love. _Poor Dean_, Sammy thinks and holds his son tighter.

"Forget it, De ... just let it go, baby, alright?" Sam says soothingly, placing yet another kiss on his son's cheek. He just wants this out of the way in order to tend to Dean's wound. Nothing else is as important right now. "Now, please baby, let me take a look at your wrist. Feel my heart? How fast it beats? I'm so scared Dean, so let me see how deep the cuts are. Please baby."

Now that he said it, Dean feels a wave of tranquility wash over him. It doesn't change what happened, sure, but nothing could anyway, so it's better to get it off his chest. It may also give him an opening, some time when they discuss it again, to tell his mom how he really feels about him, and how as his rightful alpha, he can't tolerate his sexual relationship with his dad any longer. That he won't.

If it takes him some pain, tears, and a mangled fist to get there, so be it. His mom is worth it all.

Dean's shoulders finally sag and all the fight leaves his body, his head falls back on his mommy's shoulder, and he tells him weakly that his hand hurts, which it does, _like a bitch_. For a second, he also wonders how they'll explain all this mess to Castiel, but decides they'll cross this bridge when they reach it.

Hearing his son acknowledge the hurt to his fist is Sam's cue for action, and he springs up, helping Dean up with him. Dean can walk just fine, but his mom snakes an arm around his waist and supports him all the way to the kitchen still.

After inspecting the now swollen hand, his mom removes the shards of glass carefully, washes and cleans the wound as best as he could, then ices it, and declares he's driving Dean to the ER. Dean hates hospitals but reluctantly agrees this time; he's badly bruised and tender, and Dean can't risk leaving an injury like this untreated, being a boxer and all. Sam gives Dean something for the pain, discards the dress and changes into one of his proper outfits, and rushes them out of the door. "Baby, hold it to your chest. Keep it above your heart. De, don't move it."

Sam insists on helping Dean get into their SUV, so he wouldn't rely on the hand in any way, fastens and locks the seat belt for him.

In the hospital, after an hour of waiting, Dean's hand is nicely patched up. He's suffering a minor fracture, and two of his fingers were misaligned, which the ER doctor fixed. And it hurt like hell. He was also put into a splint, which means he'll be off training for at least 2-3 weeks, depending on how fast he heels. And at his age, the doc expects it'll be lightening fast.

On their way back home, Sam stops for ice cream, and Dean feels he's being babied. "It's not for you Dean, it's for me," his mom says, squeezing his healthy hand. Ever since they left the ER ward, Sam has been constantly keeping this hand in his, clutching tightly, fingers interlaced, unless when he's driving.

In the car, Sam puts on some Metallica, for Dean's benefit, and even hums along from time to time. He occasionally curls a hand around Dean's thigh and squeezes. Or looks at him, and throws him a (somewhat sad) smile. And his mom can't stop apologizing.

"I'm sorry too you know," Dean says, eyes on the ground. "For calling you, you know."

"Forget it, honey. You were angry, and you had a right to be. Just-just try to reign your anger a little, baby, from now on. Take deep breaths when you feel like reacting harshly. For you."

"Yeah."

"Dean, about what you said earlier. About what you saw ..." _a pause_. "Eh, I don't want you to feel guilty, honey. It happens, it doesn't mean anything. You're young. When I was your age, everything turned me on."

_Dean stays silent. _

"De, what I'm trying to say is, don't overthink it. There's nothing-"

"I watched. I didn't just-I stood there and watched."

"Dean."

"When I saw you come untouched, I jizzed my pants," he says without even a side glance at his mom. He shivers at the memory of Sam spread out, moaning, writhing, shivering with want, caught in the woes of desire, so pretty and vulnerable, and so soft. Dean suddenly feels shameless about his small confessions. _This is his Omega, he should know how he riles him up, what he does to him._

Besides, it's nothing compared to the whole truth. And he needs to prepare Sam for it. _So yeah, baby steps._

Sam doesn't respond to this, swallows audibly and keeps staring forward into the distance, eyes on the road. Dean, too, stays looking ahead.

A moment later, Sam takes Dean's uninjured hand in his, brings it to his lips, and places the softest kiss there. He stirs the wheel with his left, and keeps holding Dean's hand with his right, then he interlaces their fingers together and brings their entwined hands to his heart. He shouldn't drive like this, so he slows down significantly. But he doesn't pull the car over.

"Don't hurt yourself like this again," Sam whispers softly. He's talking about that punch to the mirror. "It's not a request, De. No one, and I mean no one, is worth hurting yourself over. ..."

Dean doesn't respond, so Sam squeezes the hand wrapped up in his. "Are you listening?"

Dean nods.

"Not me, not anyone, De. You hear me, kiddo?"

"Yeah, yeah mom, I hear you."

Sam places another kiss on his son's fist, still closed around his, then takes them home.


	7. Luck, love and lust

Three weeks after Dean breaks his own fist in a rage, he loses his virginity.

But three weeks before he loses it, he lies in his bed and reflects on how far things have gone, after a long day that involved a meltdown, a visit to the hospital followed by ice cream and lots of cuddling with his mommy, and finally a lazy evening spent with Sam and Adam, who came back home with Aunt Naomi later in the afternoon.

Naomi didn't stay for long, and Dean pretended to be asleep while she visited, mainly to avoid questions about his hand. When she was gone, Dean made a re-appearance, and greeted Adam who seemed fascinated with Dean's splint; at once curious and suspicious about exactly how his big brother got his "big ouchie."

During their playtime, Adam eventually turned his "Deedee hurt" exclamation into a sing-song litany - he'd say it, and giggle, and in the course of that remind Dean how much he'd missed the little drunk ... cos that's always how he seems like to Dean: just an itty-bitty tiny drunk man. _And God, does Dean love his itty-bitty tiny brother. _

Before bed, both boys nursed from their mom - Sam happy to accommodate, and feeling visibly at peace with his two babies tucked safely in his arms. It seems that Sammy got past the fact that Dean is way past the age of breastfeeding very quickly. Now his mother almost takes it for granted that during their private quality time, when Dad's not around and when it's time for a feeding, Dean would want it too. Sam is still not used to being completely topless and bare when he lets them nurse, but at least now he automatically loses either the shirt or the bra.

And today there was something more; an air of guilt was surrounding Sam. Dean feels his mom was trying to make amends through every small action; and breastfeeding was one way Sam was saying sorry. Probably why he let Dean continue to suck at his tits long after the milk stopped dribbling. He let Dean feel them up, and let him enjoy the hot pull of his mouth on his mom's nipples, licking and blowing on the spit-wet buds, occasionally biting, and accidentally leaving what Dean can only term a hickey (if only to continue to fuel his own sense of victory) in the meat around one of his mommy's nips.

When his mommy gasped with the bite, Dean apologized quickly, "shhh, it's okay mom, I'm sorry I hurt you" ... his whispers blowing hot breaths over the sensitized, sore nipple as he spoke them. Dean then brushed a soft kiss to the nipple to soothe it, then quietly returned to milking Sam dry. With Sam's lower lip trapped between his teeth, eyes scrunched shut in pain, the man looked delicious, and worth all the trouble Dean is going through to get him all to himself.

When they were done, Sammy put Adam to sleep, then helped Dean clean the mess in his room. His mother insisted that there was no way to keep their argument from Castiel, especially with the damage done to Dean's hand and to the vanity. Dean gets that, of course. But they agreed they would skip details, water down Dean's attitude in the re-telling, and lose the parts about Dean witnessing Sam and Cas together, and Dean still feeling bitter about the "heat break" he took from home.

They concocted something. Sam would tell Cas he was trying to talk Dean out of his boxing training, like he wanted him off the sport forever. The thought of Dean getting hurt or lost to him has scared him, he'd tell Cas, and he got a preview the night before and he didn't want to go there again, ever.

There's already a lot of truth there that they felt they could build on; Sam always felt uneasy about Dean becoming a boxer (especially that he was so good at it his coaches have high hopes for him and are pushing him so hard). Sam had complained numerously to Cas. He even tried to convince Dean to take up basketball, swimming or something like tennis or squash instead. Cas had refused to pressure Dean into abandoning something he loved just because his wife was being overprotective, and Dean had laughed off his mom's fears, adamantly refusing to even discuss switching sports.

Dean remembers saying he'd rather die of head trauma than take up something like tennis.

_Tennis, mom? You're friggin' kidding me! _he had added indignantly.

So it's believable.

It's also very likely that Dean would flip out if his mom insisted too badly - and maybe, according to their new story, his mom insisted and flipped out a little too.

Dean knew that this was no way near a free pass. He knew he'll probably get lectured by Castiel at best and penalized somehow anyway.

But this is better than the truth, which would probably just enrage Castiel, or worse, raise his suspicions about Dean's true feelings for his mom, and in turn put a damper on everything Dean has been planning with regards to his mommy.

Of course, he didn't reveal to Sam that last detail, but it's what he believes.

Sam himself has his reasons for the elaborate lie. Cas hates to go to war over something twice, or needlessly protract discussions over an issue that he believes has been settled, and Sam knows that. If he hears it as it is, Cas'll take Dean's lingering anger and persistent attitude over something that's said and done (at least to Cas) as a personal challenge to his authority, as both father and Alpha. Sam hates the tension a situation like this could create between his husband and son. Now, as Dean is growing up, Sam can sense that Cas' Alpha sensibilities are becoming sharper, much more vigilant to signs of rebellion or dissent. And Dean is not easy, already. He's passionate, and he marches to the beat of a different drummer.

Sam thinks the less confrontations between these two in this delicate juncture, the better. He's tired of standing between them.

And the whole affair with witnessing Sam and Cas being sexually intimate? To Sam, that has already been classified as their "little secret" the moment it was divulged and there was no need to even discuss it out loud again and make everyone feel awkward.

...

Stretched in his bed, hugging his wounded hand to his chest, Dean goes over his last conversation with his mom and smiles. He thinks the more secrets and lies he and his Sammy share, the closer they'll get, and eventually, the farther away his mom will drift from Castiel, or so he hopes.

And that's when he hears the rising murmuring coming from his parents' room, two doors away, and realizes Castiel is probably now becoming privy to his earlier meltdown. Dean knits his brows in concern as he hears a door creak open, then footsteps approaching his room, and from what he can gather based on sound alone, it's Castiel and apparently he wants to wake Dean up in the dead of night to talk about what happened. Cas can't wait until morning, he says, and Dean knows that's bad.

But he also knows that his mommy simply won't let this happen, and Dean's proven right a moment later. He could hear his Sammy coming to his defense, whispering that his son has had enough, and that his day was quite hard already. Castiel won't listen, apparently, and Sam finally lets it out (unaware that Dean is probably still awake, perking up his ears on the other side of the closed door, spying on their semi-hushed conversation, even if he's still lying in bed).

_Well, the doors are thin_.

"I hit him, okay," Sam hisses.

"You what?"

"It's why he lost it. I slapped him Castiel," Sam repeats, and his voice sounds teary, which is probably why his dad remains silent for a few moments registering this.

He can hear his father release a sigh.

"Sam, that's still not-"

"No, Cas. Don't. I've never laid a finger on our kids before, and after ... you know, how I was raised, I swore, I'd never- But today, I did Cas, and I feel awful, and I wish I died before it happened. And I don't know how to make it up to him. ... I feel responsible for what happened, alright? For everything. The pain. All the blood. My God, he bled a lot. And I made him cry, and I never thought-God. So ... please don't make it worse."

Cas stays silent, letting it all sink in. He knows as well as Sam does that violence is not in Sam, so for him to lose his temper and strike it must have been as traumatizing for Sam as it was for Dean. Probably punishing Dean, again, would make it more painful for Sam; would be like punishing his wife along.

Lately, Cas has been feeling something is slipping out of his hands, he doesn't know what it is, and because of that, he can't control it - Sammy's changing, and he can't put a finger on how he is, or why, and he's losing his grip on Dean too. In the past, Sam and him were more of a united front, but now things are not as black and white. His thoughts trail off as Sam speaks again.

"Look, Cas, you can have a talk with him tomorrow. In the morning. When he's up, **_and_** well rested. After he's had his first meal. We're not sadists. He made a mistake, alright, but he was thoroughly punished for it. Please, Cas."

"Alright. Okay. Backing off, Sam. For you, honey. This time, I'll let it go, but only for you," Cas says, emotionally exhausted from all the back-and-forth. _This time, and last time, and probably two more times,_ Cas thinks._ God, Dean **is** getting away with a lot these days._

"Good, thank you, darling."_ Phew._

When Dean hears the unmistakable sound of kissing, his stomach churns a little, but at least he feels this is for his benefit, to help his dad calm down and forget he has a bone to pick with his son. Cas is probably not happy his hand was forced, yet again.

Dean also feels for his mom so he'll go easy on Sam too. Sure, he doesn't like that everything ends with him and Cas kissing, and _man_, that slap burned, and not just physically, it shocked Dean to the core, but it looks like his mom is already torturing himself over it; the guilt and the pain in his voice are very potent, and his sorrow touches Dean.

So Dean lets it all go, soaks up the sensations of fatigue, and the tingling relief from the pain pills he popped earlier, and finally drifts off.

...

When Dean comes to, it's still late at night. The street light seeping in from the gap in the curtains attest to it.

There's a dip in the mattress, a weight settles down beside him, and it's what wakes him up. When Dean flutters his eyes open, he can see it's his mom.

"Sorry, baby, go back to sleep. I'm just checking on you," says Sam, and his voice sounds a little broken. Dean squints, letting his eyes get used to the dim lighting, then he sees it; his mommy's red-rimmed eyes. It's either Sam was crying or couldn't sleep.

"What's wrong, mommy?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. Is your hand alright? Does anything still hurt?"

_Mildly_, it's mainly a persistent dull throbbing, Dean thinks, but he isn't going to say it, seeing how torn up his mommy looks already. "Nah mom, it's all good."

Sam cards his fingers through Dean's hair. "Do you know how much I love you, Dean?"

"Yeah, mom ... Yeah, I do."

"Good, because I'd never hurt you sweetie, never," Sam says, and a single tear falls, and he quickly wipes it away.

"Mom, come here. Come to bed," Dean says, sits up with a little difficulty, then holds both his healthy and injured arms out for Sam. And Sam complies. He slips under the covers, and into Dean's arms, lying between his legs, his torso resting on Dean's hips, and Dean spreads his thighs to accommodate his mom.

Sam hugs him like he's trying to hide inside his son's much smaller frame, his head buried in his son's neck, and his arms curled tightly around Dean's waist, lifting him slightly off the bed a little. They hold each other, and Dean can feel the hot tears against his neck. He starts stroking Sam's hair, kissing his forehead, and rubbing his nose against Sam's cheeks, until his mom's breaths even out and calm down.

Sam turns his head up, and asks, "Do you forgive me?"

"Mommy, there's nothing to forgive. I'm yours. You can do anything you want to me," he says, his softness now in direct proportion to his cruelty in the morning when he'd called his mom a whore, and pushed him away. They're now gazing at each other, breathing the same air, lips mere inches apart, and Dean takes the opportunity, and slots their mouths together, kissing hungrily.

His mother lets his own lips be plundered.

"Mommy, open your mouth," Dean whispers urgently between kisses, feeling bold.

"Dean."

"Come on, mom, I wanna taste you." _Kiss_. "Please." _Kiss_. "It'll make me feel better." _Kiss_. "Safer. Loved." _Kiss_. "Open' em."

Sam does, and the moment his mommy's lips part, Dean stabs his tongue inside, running it along Sammy's tongue, his teeth, the roof of his mouth.

He takes Sam's tongue between his own teeth, then starts sucking on it, slurping, pulling like he wants to devour it already.

His mom squirms a little; Dean can feel his surprise and reluctance at being kissed like this; so consumingly, like no son should kiss his mother, like they've never kissed before. But Dean pushes past his mother's hesitancy, and continues to eat his mouth like a piece of coveted dessert.

"Dean," Sam manages to groan between kisses. His grip on Dean loosens at first, then he feels his mom trying to nudge him, then trying to push up from the bed and away from his mouth. But Dean's hands are around his mommy, and Sam would not dislodge or throw him off knowing he could hurt his son's bandaged hand if he does. So he tries to wriggle, but without much heart.

Every time Sam tries to pull away, Dean moves with him, follows his mouth with his own, re-slotting his lips over Sam's, and pushing his tongue inside his mom's mouth again.

Dean rests his injured hand, the one in a splint, against Sam's shoulder and neck, but his other hand moves down and slips under Sammy's shirt.

His mom is not wearing a bra, and his breasts are soft and accessible. Dean mounds at one breast, groping it, then he pinches a nipple, taking it between thumb and index fingers, willing it into hardness. "Dean, sweetie. What are you doing?" Sam rasps when his mouth is momentarily released. Dean attacks his mouth again. When there's another break, Sammy asks him to "hold on, wait," his lower lip still trapped between his son's voluptuous lips as he speaks.

But Dean's not listening.

And Sam doesn't try anything beyond the feeble, small attempts to escape Dean's not-so-tight clutch.

Dean knows this is happening too close to his confession of getting turned on watching his mother get fucked, but a) he can't fight it, b) he's sure he can get away with anything right now with his mommy feeling so incredibly, irredeemably guilty.

Feeling even luckier, Dean grazes his hands down Sam's torso, along his abs. He dips a tip of a finger in Sam's navel, then continues down, tracing Sam's treasure trail, until he meets the fabric of Sam's sweats. His touches are not exploratory, but urgent, hot and claiming.

His hand changes directions and he curls it around Sam's waist instead of going lower. Dean can't go there yet. _Too soon_.

But as a compromise, to himself, he lays his now sweaty palm against the dip of his mommy's back, right above the swell of his butt, where a thin pair of sweats are sitting low, nothing beneath them from the looks of it. Just this thin item of clothing separating Dean's hand from Sam's most private parts.

He's still making out aggressively with Sam, and while his mom may not be reciprocating as enthusiastically, he's not totally passive either, despite calling Dean's name between breaths, and begging him to "stop" as his son's hand wanders.

Dean's hand moves from Sam's lower back and dips lower, then in a moment of pure uninhibited passion, he thinks _fuck it_, and pushes his wandering, insistent fingers past Sammy's sweats and into the crease between Sam's ass cheeks. He wants to ravage and rape that secret spot ... touch a finger to Sam's sweet, pretty pink pucker, then slip it inside, claim Sammy, finger fuck him into confessing he's his alone. Make him writhe, and squirt. Drool cum and slick as he talks dirty to him. Wet his own pants from the stimulation, and finally orgasm with Dean's name spilling from his lips like a prayer.

But it happens differently, and so quickly, one push, and he's barely touching Sammy's hole before his mom panics, pushes back and bucks off the bed and him.

"Oh God, Dean, you shouldn't ..." Sam runs his hands through his hair, looking for words. His face is flushed, eyes still teary, his lips wet, swollen and bitten, wrecked from the ravenous kissing and nibbling they were subjected to, and Dean feels a wave of pride course through him at making his mommy look so used, so deliciously confused and edible. His cock is already twitching from the passionate kissing.

"What's wrong, mom?" Dean takes one of Sam's hands in his, laces their fingers together, and pulls him closer. Sam reluctantly follows. Dean kneels on the bed, to be closer in height to his now standing mommy, then he lays his chin on the swell of Sam's breasts, gaze never leaving Sam's. "I like tasting you, mom. You taste so good," Dean says, lacing his voice with sweet innocence but it's still rough with want, and his breath is coming fast. He knows he can't mask that rasp.

He's not hiding his intent per se, physically he definitely isn't, but he's somewhat challenging his mom to put a name on his actions, to accuse him of taking things "too far."

He knows Sam won't. Because even as he's being groped and fondled, and kissed like a lover, a big part of Sam will still refuse to see Dean as anything but his sweet, innocent, loving son, who perhaps can't differentiate yet between feelings of love, and feelings of lust.

Dean can live with that misperception - if it gives him what he wants.

"Mom? Would you prefer it if I don't kiss you again? At all?"

"No!" Sam responds without thinking. "I mean, of course we can kiss, but not, not like this, sweetie."

"Like what, mom?" Dean asks, and pushes himself up a little in order to place a deep kiss on Sam's mouth. He releases his lips with a pop, then asks again, "huh, mom?" _Another lingering kiss_.

Sam's eyes close with each kiss, and again he doesn't push Dean away. In fact, he snakes his arms around Dean and hugs him closer, as Dean cradles his mom's head and presses feather-light kisses against his lips, his chin, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his collarbone. "What's wrong with this?"

Meanwhile, Sam doesn't answer all his son's non-questions.

"Forget it, De. Just when you touch me, if you do, baby ... just don't-" _Don't what?_ Sam thinks to himself. Is he going to tell his son to stop touching him so intimately, so beautifully because it's wrong? ... _and is it wrong? _Should there be taboos between mother and son, if they're as close to each other as he and Dean is?

_Who puts the rules?_

_And it's not like Dean means anything by it_, Sam reasons. _It's not like my son is consciously stepping over a line._ He probably doesn't fully understand that love manifests itself differently between parents and their kids; no matter how deep it runs, Sam muses, that there are still red lines. Dean is too pure, and whole, and too true to his love, to understand what these man-made boundaries were created to accomplish. Besides, despite knowing how to win people, Dean is generally emotionally withdrawn; he hasn't learned to dispense his feelings except with family. Sam is partly responsible for that, drilling into him that it all comes down to them: his parents and his brother. So this type of love, it's all Dean knows.

Sam himself doesn't understand why society has decided it's _not_ OK for mothers and sons to love each other so unconditionally, like lovers or better ... I mean, _this love_, Sam knows he can't have with anyone. Not even Cas. Because not even Cas was born out of his womb. Not even Cas, for all his perfections, has been inside Sam for nine months. It's not Cas that was literally part of him, it's not Cas that fed from his breasts for years, and not Cas who walked his first steps towards Sam, spoke his first words to Sam, and loved Sam even before he knew what love is.

For all his life, Sam has been Dean's all, his center of attention, his rock, his friend and parent. Sam would never be this for Cas.

Sam has witnessed every little detail of Dean's life, and it has not been so for Cas. Even as in love as they are, Sam still keeps certain things - memories, stories, dreams- from Castiel. He bets it's the same for Cas. But to Sam, Dean is an open book. He knows his son inside out.

For all their love and longing, Sam's and Cas's passion for each other pales compared to how tied up together and how tightly connected Sam and his first born are. Sam's heart could burst from all the love he has for his son; it fills him up, overtakes him, maddens him sometimes.

He'd never say it out loud, but sometimes Sam doesn't even understand his feelings for Dean completely.

The closest thing Sam has to this all-encompassing love is his love for Adam. And even with loving Adam so warmly and deeply, Sam knows he and Dean share an uncanny special bond. He **_hates_** to admit it, but sometimes he feels even Adam can't exactly compete, at least not in this respect.

So bearing this in mind, should he still push his son away, deny him things and school him into accepting the tenets of this flawed society - the same society Sam himself struggles with day in day out?

Should he tell Dean it's wrong, _dirty_, to seek comfort and security from kissing his mother, or touching him, just because he's not his Alpha, because he was designated only the role of a "son," or just because it was decided long before Dean was born that one man and only one should touch Sam this way? What? Should he tell Dean to restrain his natural impulses, train himself to fear and sexualize even the purest expressions of love, instead of taking them for what they are; displays of deep affection and unwavering love?

_It's too late in the night to ponder on this any further_, Sam thinks, so he just places a final chaste kiss on Dean's cheek, detangles himself from his son's embrace and asks him to go back to sleep, so he could get some rest. He needs it.

"Sleep with me?" Dean asks, refusing to let his mom go. "Please?"

Sam's shoulders' sag. "Ok, just for a little bit. Maybe until you go back to sleep."

_Foot in the door_, Dean thinks.

"Mom, one more thing."

"What, De?"

"I'm feeling pretty shaken. From this morning. And I just wanna-" Dean trails off, on purpose. He knows what he's doing to his mom.

"What? What do you want, De?"

"No ... You won't get it ..."

"Try me, sweetie."

"Mom, I'm suddenly scared to ask."

"Hey, don't! Scared from me?! We don't censor ourselves around each other, you and me."

"But you might take it the wrong way. After today ... I just can't-"

"Dean, there's nothing we can't say to each other. Hear me, buddy?" His mom says, voice very serious.

Dean gulps audibly, but doesn't speak.

"Baby?" And the word is beckoning softly.

"Can we sleep together without clothes on? Just for tonight. Earlier, I felt my heart was racing, like I was on the verge of panic, mom, and I needed you. But I didn't wanna come to your room," he lies. "I just wanna feel your skin, mom. I want to feel us touching."

"Oh."

"Forget it, I'm-you know, being a baby. Maybe even a freak for wanting this."

"Hey, no, no, no. It's just that I'm not sure I'm comfortable-I'm. If. How it looks, De. If your dad wakes up and comes here looking for me ..."

"Ah ... It's fine, mom." _Whatever. It's always his dad standing in the way._

"Look, don't. There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel close to someone. I'm your mom, and best friend, remember? We're it for each other. I'll tell you what? I'll help you take your shirt, and sweats off. You can sleep in your shorts. I'm going commando, so ... erm, I'll just take my shirt off, and keep the pants. We'll snuggle closely. You'll still feel me, I promise."

"Ok, mom, thank you." _Good enough_, Dean thinks.

When they're out of most of their clothes, Dean lies in his mom's arms. Both of them are on their sides, with Dean of course lying on his good side. His mom makes him promise to come and call him anytime he feels panic taking over him; "it's not negotiable, De. You feel like that again? You come straight to mommy. I don't care what hour it is." Dean promises, and when they settle, cuddle closely, he finds his face right up his mom's full naked chest. Without thinking he opens up his mouth, and seals his lips around a breast, and starts nursing on it. Sam's eyes glaze over, and he holds his son tighter. Dean's lids soon start feeling heavy ... he finally sleeps with one arm around his mom, the other propped up against Sammy's waist, their legs tangled together, his mom's mouth pressed to the top of his head and one of his mom's nipples clutched between his lips.

In Dean's books, with all things considered, this is certainly a good outcome for the day.

...

Three weeks later, Dean is in Rhonda Hurley's bed, kissing her heatedly, tasting the remains of cigarette smoke and whiskey on her tongue, and fucking for the first time; his new girlfriend getting impaled on his dick.

She's straddling him, and he's buried to the hilt inside Rhonda's hot pussy, with two spit-slick fingers buried in her ass. She's whining helplessly - or so she pretends. Dean can't tell if she's intentionally turning up the volume on her sluttiness. He doesn't care. She knows what she's doing, it seems, and it's fucking working wonders on Dean.

Dean's lazy arm, with the near-healed hand, is stretched beside him. Dean thrusts up into Rhonda, slipping in and out with his cock, and stabbing with his fingers - overworking them plus his core muscles - as he fucks into her two holes simultaneously, screwing her in more ways than one.

His pace is punishing, and Rhonda is indulging him, working herself up and down Dean's thick length with abandon, moaning like a whore and even Dean can't believe the bitch's barely 16. She fucks, and gets fucked, like a pro - her ash blond hair falling back, her perky udders bouncing, rose pink nipples hard enough to cut glass, and her mouth is open, panting and making the sweetest noises Dean has ever heard.

And Jeez, he's two years younger, and she still worships him; age doesn't even register to her. All she wants is a strong, handsome Alpha and a good, solid fuck. If Dean had known her back when he was still 12, she'd probably still let him dick her if he tempts her enough.

And Dean's cock is very tempting - he's a young dominant Alpha through and through.

When his orgasm hits, it's electrifying. Against good reason, he's fucking her bare, without a condom, and he shoots inside - and the feeling he gets from the friction, and from letting loose inside her pussy is worth all the risk (and the tests that will follow to make sure he didn't contact anything). But even in the throes of passion, and considering how ready he feels for more sexual adventures, Dean still remembers to pull out before his knot fattens up. Not that he can _properly_ knot with a beta like her. But even if she could trap his knot with her inner muscles, like omegas do, Rhonda doesn't deserve the honor anyway.

Dean's knot is for one person, and one person alone. And that person's name is too pure and too good to be so much as uttered in Rhonda's presence.

Dean's cock perks up again, shortly after they're done with round one. You see, Rhonda does this filthy thing; when Dean is lying back still trying to catch his breath, the insatiable bitch sits up against the headboard, and splays her legs wide open for Dean, showing off the sloppy mess he made of her. Her cunt and hole are obscenely stretched and on display, and Dean can't take his eyes away from that juicy spot between her legs.

Now having his full attention, Rhonda uses two fingers to scoop up the cum leaking from her pussy and she fuckin' eats it. _Dean's cum_, that was just dribbling out in rivulets from her pussy hole, whose muscles are still flexing ... the dark-pink-rimmed opening that's still winking enticingly at Dean.

His mind melts, and he makes a mental note to tell Benny every last detail of this. Hell, he'll tell anyone who listens.

And Rhonda's still taking it all. Dipping her fingers in her soaked cunt. Swallowing Dean's fluids, moaning around her fingers like it's honey she's tasting or chocolate syrup. And Dean has never seen anything so dirty.

His dick goes from twitching to rock hard in under a minute. "Want to come in my ass, Dean? My pussy is still dripping with your seed but my hole feels so empty," she purrs, as she plays with her pucker now, circles it, slips a manicured finger in, for his eyes only. "Want you to ruin my slutty hole, Dean," she begs beautifully.

And Dean ... Dean is a gone man, all thoughts of anyone else but Rhonda simply forgotten.


	8. Dean and Rhonda

Sitting on Rhonda's couch, buck naked, his cock lying soft against his thigh, Dean sips on a beer as he lazily watches a muted show on the TV screen - he's not "watching, watching," more like observing the moving pictures. At 16, Rhonda already has the house to herself most of the time. A nearly absent mom, and a dad who drinks himself into a stupor every single night, means a lot of freedom - and sure, less money, and minimal prospects, but Rhonda is not the self-pitying type; she has long accepted that this is her life and that this is probably it. And she makes the best out of it - mostly by getting fucked stupid and building a solid reputation as the school slut, in addition to drinking, smoking up, even hustling men twice her size in pool in shady bars. Dean has seen the girl in action, and she's good. She can wiggle her way through anything, including getting them into some pretty exclusive clubs without showing IDs.

He doesn't know how she does it but he's not complaining.

Right now, she has thrown a thin crop top on, and she's sitting on a love seat to his right, her breasts covered, but the lower half of her body completely nude. She's not even trying to hide her modesty; she's sitting cross-legged and her pussy lips are spread from the position, showing off her pink opening and because she's lazily lying back against the seat, Dean can also glimpse her pucker. Her shamelessness is quite gripping!

She looks sexy as hell, but Dean fucked her at least three times in less than four hours and even at 14 that's pushing it. He can enjoy the view, but at this point, his dick is not interested in anything beyond twitching feebly in response to the visual stimulation.

Rhonda is sipping on scotch, neat. She offered him a shot earlier but Dean of course declined. She's also smoking and he wouldn't come near cigarettes no matter what. Never again. The last time he did, his mom smelled it on him, and he went through scorching hell for a couple of days.

His mom can forgive him for anything, except wrecking his own health or harming himself. When he smelled the smoke, whose smell Dean had mistakenly thought had faded from his mouth and clothes, Sam was furious. Dean had never seen his mom this mad - except for the time when Dean had called him a 'dirty whore' but even then Sam's rage was fleeting, and he was quick to forgive then beg for forgiveness himself after the whole broken bones fiasco. But it wasn't the case with being caught smoking.

It happened the first time Dean went out with Rhonda, and it was tempting to try. It was only a week after Dean had hurt his hand punching the mirror. It was their first date, and Rhonda magicked Dean with her rebellion, her daring and the way she flips off the entire waken world with everything she says or does - he was inspired. When she offered him a cigarette, he didn't want to come across as a coward or a wuss, and between them, they'd smoked an entire pack by the end of the date.

Dean's not stupid; he tried to mask the smell. He tried sucking on mint lozenges, used a breath spray and gurgled with lukewarm coffee and he went home thinking he has it covered, until his mommy gave him a welcome home kiss, right on his mouth, and immediately caught on the trace of his sin. Sam's face scrunched up in disgust, and when he asked, Dean couldn't lie. Well, he tried, but his mom could read him right away, so he quickly caved in and told him everything; that yes, not only did he smoke, but he also chain smoked, and yes, it was out of peer pressure, because his friends were smoking (Dean didn't mention it was just Rhonda), and he didn't want to be the odd one out; the loser, the goody-good boy who's too afraid of his parents to try anything new. He's 14 _goddamnit_, he's susceptible to bad influence; _it's practically a right at 14,_ Dean thinks.

But the look on his mom's face when he was done with his confession made him feel he should've flipped Rhonda off, and refused the ciggies altogether, leaving her to think whatever she wants to think of him.

Sam's bitchfacing abilities are legendary, and at that moment, he unleashed his best one on Dean. When Dean tried to make amends by burrowing into his mom's embrace and apologizing, shockingly, Sam pushed him away. "You reek of smoke, Dean. Never come near me smelling like that. You should be ashamed of yourself," Sam said, cheeks tinged red with anger. And Dean did feel ashamed, at that moment. For never had his mom been so harsh. Never had he felt that he'd disappointed him like this.

The next day, his mom was stone cold, and they barely talked. It was a weekend but he was grounded. His mom even threatened to rat him out to his dad, who would've probably tanned his hide if he knew. So Dean happily accepted the penalty. If his mom is this unforgiving about it, then his dad would probably break his face, or do something equally drastic.

Instead of spending Saturday evening in his mom's arms, he spent it holed up in his room feeling sorry for himself. Later, when his mom calmed a bit, Sam explained to him how it breaks his heart when Dean does anything to hurt himself; that he can't stand it when Dean's reckless or acts so irresponsibly, least of all to please someone else or out of petty pressure. Dean understood. He would've felt the same if it were Sam or Adam. He promised solemnly he won't do it again - a promise that Dean will break of course, but many years later. Not now. Now, at that moment, he promised, then covered Sam's face with kisses. Eventually, his mom softened, and smiled a little. By Sunday night, it was all back to normal, and his mom even tucked him in bed, where they made out some before Dean went to sleep. Dean didn't dare re-attempt a proper making out session, with tongue and all, so close to the first incident. So these kisses were mostly closed-mouthed, but they were lingering and deep, and many, and they left them both with swollen lips.

Right now, he listens to his mom. So when Rhonda offered him a puff post their frantic sex making, Dean firmly refused. He also realized that he too hates how smoke smells, and he especially loathes how it tastes on Rhonda's mouth. It's almost a turn off, so next time they plan to go at it like bunnies, he'll tell Rhonda in advance to lay off the cigarettes.

"What's on your mind, darling?" Rhonda purrs, from where she's sitting. "Nothing. Just relaxing."

"Tell me about her?"

"Her?"

"The girl you obsess over when I'm not sucking your dick, or riding you like a friggin' horse, Dean. Is she in the same school as us?"

Dean understands. He probably has this look in his eyes; whenever Sam crosses his mind, he gets lost for a bit. Dean will have to learn to school his features into neutrality when he's thinking of Sam, otherwise people who can read other people well, like Rhonda does or anyone else, will be able to spot the dreamy element to his thoughtfulness.

"No. And it's a he."

"Oh, the plot thickens."

"There's no plot. He's the love of my life, he's the Omega I will finally marry and settle down with. That's it more or less."

"Typical Alpha. One omega for the main course, and a beta on the side."

"Oh, sweetheart, don't kid yourself. We're nothing. You're not even my mistress."

"What? Just a one-time fuck? You're hurting my feelings, Dean."

"I don't know if it's a one-time thing. But I don't commit, Rhonda, I can't, not even to casual. I can't even promise we'll keep playing around like this. I might come back for seconds. Or not." Dean knows he will. Rhonda is a find. But he still doesn't want to promise anything.

"And when he's mine, I won't cheat. I won't have to. No betas on the side, just him," Dean adds, then gulps down some beer.

"If he has you wound around his little finger like this, so perfectly, why aren't you with him right now? What are you doing here, darling?"

"Well, it's complicated."

"Complicated how?" she says, smiling playfully, clearly amused.

"He's not exactly available. Yet. But he's mine, I know it." Dean doesn't even know why he's not shutting Rhonda up, nipping the conversation in the bud and ending it with "it's none of your business" before it's even starting. Maybe it's the alcohol, and sex afterglow, loosening his tongue, or perhaps, a part of him wants to spill; wants to find a way to talk about Sam, discuss their messed up situation, and seek comfort from the idea of letting someone else know that Sam is his, and only his; that his mom is his everything.

"He's married, isn't he?"

_How on Earth are her guesses spot on like this? _

"Rhonda, tread softly."

"I don't even know what this means."

"It means it's time to shut up, maybe."

Rhonda puts out her cigarette, lays the glass aside, leaves the chair and crawls on all fours, seductively, to where Dean is. She kneels between Dean's legs, grips his knees and parts his thighs further, and dives in between, sucking on Dean's naked balls, moaning as she does, like his bag is the most delicious meal. Her eyes meet his as she slurps, and he knows what she's doing. This conversation's not over. Dean can't help but throw his head back; pleasure coursing through him, his lower parts slowly coming to life, cock stirring, and blood rushing to his groin. Before he falls further into pleasure, he tips his beer bottle back, and drains the rest of it. He discards the bottle, on the floor by the couch.

Rhonda pops one of his balls out of her wet lips, and says, "Tell me a bit about him. What you love the most."

"No way, but go back to what you were doing. Jeez, Rhonda, put your mouth on my balls. Keep sucking," Dean says, breathlessly.

Rhonda runs her lips against his length, and her voice vibrates against his penis when she speaks, "na-uh, not until you tell me about your boy. Come on. What's so special about him, darling?" She kisses the head of Dean's cock. Softly. Like she's kissing a baby. It's pure torture.

"Damn it, Rhonda. I like the way he smells." She takes the head in her mouth, and starts sucking. "I like his b-body. It's soft in places, and h-hard in others. God!" She pushes her tongue into his cock slit. "I like his voice. It's manly, yet full of love and warmth. And ... Rhonda, God." He can feel the slit give, the tiny hole expanding under Rhonda's assault, and he's never had a blow job that felt so dirty. She continues her ministrations, and he continues spilling, and although he feels _erotically blackmailed_ into speaking about his mom, his Sammy, he still feels liberated he could even talk about him to anyone else.

He keeps going on and on about Sam's lips, Sam's eyes, his chest, his belly pudge, his cock. Even mentioning he's older. All, saving Sam's name and relationship to him of course, or anything that would give his identity away. Then Dean's brain gets sucked through his prick and he starts outright rambling ...

"When we're married, I'll pump him full of babies. And-and, put him in dresses all the time. I'll fuckin' flaunt him everywhere, I'll fuck him where people can see. So that everyone knows he's mine. God, he'll l-look - Oh, Rhonda, keep doing that, please. Ahhh - he-he will look great in panties and lacy bras. And that's the only thing he'll be allowed to wear around our house. I'll hand pick his lingerie. Uhhh. I won't even take off his panties when, when ... I'm gonna come, Rho-. Soon. ... I'll just ... I'll just part his legs and pull the panty to the side, and f-fuck his hole. I'll fuckin' fuck him into the mattress. I'll knot him. He'll be my bitch. And I'll stay in him for hours. I'll fuckin' fill him with my cum, and-and piss. Mark him all over. I'll plug him, and let him walk around with my seed and pee sloshing inside of him. I'm coming, coming. Uhhh." Eyes glazed, pulse thundering in his ears, and vision whitening, Dean's orgasm rips through him, strings of white pearly fluid shooting from his dick into Rhonda's throat. She swallows it all down, then parts her lips, and releases him.

"How was that, darling?" Her voice is raspy, and her lips look edible.

"Come here," Dean says and pulls her into his arms, slotting their mouths together, and devouring her lips, practically tasting himself there. "You know how delicious you are, Rhonda? Huh, baby?"

"Does this mean I'll see you again?" She asks, sweetly, against his lips, between hot kisses. "Maybe." She pulls away. "Well, most probably," Dean adds hastily.

"Good enough," she says, giggling. And Dean flips them on the couch so that he's lying on top of her then he resumes fucking her mouth with his tongue.

_She is something_, he thinks, before falling hard, again, into the throes of passion. He wonders, for a split of a second, if he can indeed keep her on the side like Alphas typically do, but his mind doesn't stay there. It's his dick thinking now. No, no, he'll just have Rhonda as long as he can't fully have his mom, then it's over, he tells himself. And until then, his mom doesn't even have to know there's a Rhonda.

Or so he tells himself.


	9. The big reveal

Dean and Rhonda are an item now, and everyone treats Dean like he's won the lottery - including Benny, who called dibs on getting all the details to Dean and Rhonda's "bedroom rodeo", as he calls it. The girls call Rhonda a slut, but the boys envy the ground she walks on; she's hot, and easy, a guy's dream come true. Right?

Wrong, because Dean is already taken.

Sure, Dean knows she's a looker.

And Dean will give Rhonda something else: she endures. He's been hot and cold, moody, and downright rude to her sometimes but she's still tethered to him.

She knows Dean is in love with "an older boy". He insinuated as much, more like nearly admitted it during one of their sexapades. She accepts she's never going to be "the one," but she sticks around, and Dean won't lie, he enjoys the intimacy. In bed, Rhonda is anything but boring.

A part of Dean has humored the thought that maybe there's a longer play at hand; Rhonda may be lurking, waiting for a chance to pounce on Dean, and tie him in a committed relationship, but as far as he's concerned, she can lurk all she wants; she'll never be his other half.

He already cheats on Rhonda with other girls. He often comes clean, she pretends to mind, but deep down, Dean doesn't think she does as long as, publicly, they're still together. In another life, she might have worked well as a beta mistress, if only for her looks, because let's face it, that's her only powerful asset. The girl's got no class.

Dean tells himself he can make do with this broken relationship for now - until he's with his mate. His own mother.

He realizes how it sounds, and he's already bracing himself (mentally) for all the battles he will have to wage in order to convince the world his mom is his. He knows what this love entails; this obsession. He's painfully aware that his mom was claimed before Dean was even conceived - in fact, Dean himself wouldn't be here if he weren't.

He also knows choosing Sam means breaking ranks with his entire family, losing his father, maybe even his brother, and one day having to stand up and claim his own mother, marry him and be both father and brother to his sons and daughters.

It's messed up. If he were an outsider, he'd judge himself and Sam harshly.

But Dean also doesn't care - family politics or societal norms don't hold a candle to the red, hot passion coursing through him at the idea of having Sam all to himself.

He's familiar with the history of Alpha and Omega relationships, and being claimed by family members happened and still happens, albeit rarely compared to the old days. But it's not unheard of, and new social laws are not scripture, he tells himself.

Dean sometimes wishes he could vent to someone. He once thought of Bobby. They talk sometimes during his banishment periods, which are regular now that Sam goes into heat, but he couldn't muster enough courage to talk to him about _this_.

The closest he came to spilling it all to Bobby was when Dean fell apart this one time. Dean had been staying at Bobby's when he was suddenly hit by a bout of rage at the thought of his father claiming Sam like he once saw him do; the anger soon turned destructive and Dean's awareness caught up with him only in the midst of a tantrum where he was literally wrecking one of Bobby's cars in the yard with a heavy metal rod.

Usually working on the cars was meditative for Dean, but not that time. That time, he got carried away with his thoughts. He came out of his trance when Bobby started screaming at him to stop, holding his wrists, barring him from swinging his make-shift bat and hurling it at the poor vehicle one more time. Dean remembers the moment he came to: He was being manhandled by Bobby, standing in front of a wreck that he'd caused. He unclenched his fist, the rod fell out, and tears started overflooding his eyes.

The adrenaline withdrawal left Dean light headed, and his knees almost gave out. He held together, barely keeping from passing out or having a full meltdown. He sniffed and shifted his gaze away from his handiwork and from Bobby. He expected a lecture, and a phone call to his parents. Out of shame and not fear, Dean then started profusely apologizing. But Bobby just dismissed him. Dean saw him inspecting the damage - or pretending to, while in reality he was probably digesting the scene he'd walked onto - muttering "idjit" under his breath.

Later on, Bobby who usually hated talking about feelings as much as Dean did, popped open a couple of beers, slid one to Dean across the kitchen table, and told him to spill.

And Dean could've done that, would've, right there and then, and perhaps Bobby would've understood.

Dean would've told him his problem, mainly that he loved a man too much and it was making him mad and he didn't understand half of it. He'd tell him that his man was always with him, but always out of reach, loving but not romantically interested, his, but not his.

But Dean made a last minute decision to shut his cakehole, and keep his secrets and moaning to himself. Instead, he told Bobby he's feeling burned out, after losing a boxing match plus enduring overwhelming school work, expectations, etc. to which Bobby listened patiently, finally concluded it was all bullshit, telling Dean that when he's ready to talk, he'll be here. "And not a word to Cas or Sam about this," Bobby had added, pointing to Dean's beer bottle. Dean protested humorously that he's not an idiot, he'd never tell his parents about the odd drink. It wasn't worth mentioning anyway; it was one single beer. And that was that.

The 'dark' incident was shoved under the carpet, and for that Dean was immensely grateful.

...

It's almost the end of this school year, and the next is Dean's freshman year in high school.

He knows it's a big deal for his parents, but for him, all that he can think about is his sixteenth birthday, which, according to his pre-set plan, he's going to celebrate by fucking his mom.

He plans to do it some time around the Lupercalia festival, and his official coming-of-age ceremony as an Alpha male of the Winchester family. Both traditions are very medieval in flavor but his father's family uphold the tradition religiously. He's never attended the festival before; only adults are allowed to. But he hears that everyone dresses up for it, that it's grand and regal, and that during the festival, the family's freshly matured Alphas are honored by the heads of families. Dean doesn't think Castiel is progressive enough to force him to miss such a celebrated, life-defining event.

And again, Dean believes it's fit to claim his mom around that time, in the after-glow of his own ceremony, after his mom witnesses his enthroning as an Alpha.

But he's no way close to being anything like that for Sam. In fact, he had to take it all down a notch, sensing a strong reluctance from his mom's end when he pushes or when he tries to brave new territory, especially during the last couple of weeks.

Sam still wavers between holding back and giving his all - and Dean is sometimes not so sure if his mom is still buying into his innocent charade.

Dean thinks perhaps it's time he let go of polite pretenses and instead, reveal to his mom his true intentions.

It's a wager; he could lose all. But how else is he going to make this work?

Besides, Dean would like to think that his mom loves him too much to risk losing him, even if it came down to a choice between him and his father. Or is he wrong?

His string of thoughts is severed when he hears his mom calling him down for dinner. His dad, as per the new tradition, is not around. He's so close to promotion, and he's working his butt off these days, spending more time in the office, and in work-related events, than ever before. Dean was propped up against the headboard waiting for the aspirin he popped half an hour earlier to kick in when he heard Sam's call. He was badly beaten in sparring, and took a bad hit to his chest. His ribs are aching. He was distracted and clumsy and his boxing coach was not happy.

Dean climbs off the bed, and walks down to the ground floor. His mom and Adam are already around the kitchen table, as Dean shuffles into the kitchen then grunts in pain as he plops down in his seat.

"Your ribs?" his mom asks, concern lacing his tone, but also a hint of anger that Dean doubts has anything to do with him being banged up.

"Getting better," Dean responds.

"I highly doubt."

"I'm fine, mom."

"Whatever, Dean. Eat," his mom says, dropping a plate in front of him.

OK, something is most definitely wrong. Throughout the meal, Dean tries to start a conversation but his mom's clipped responses kill those attempts. Sam is uncharacteristically impatient with Adam, who's like any three year old at a dinner table, is squirming in his seat, and playing with his food between mouthfuls. When they're done, Dean tries to help his mom clear the table, but Sam tells him not to bother. Dean takes Adam to the living room, and pops a DVD in, a cartoon to entertain his little brother, something he can fall asleep to. Then he returns to the kitchen where Sam's washing the dishes. His mom's back is straighter than usual, his shoulders are visibly tense, and he looks agitated - his distress is radiating off of him in waves. Dean swings his arms around him and hugs him from behind, chest to back, but Sam doesn't relax. Dean lays his head on Sam's back, in the nook between his shoulder blades, and starts massaging his mom's abs, wanting to soothe him of whatever it is that's eating him up. But Sam wriggles, clearly uncomfortable with the gesture and wanting to break free, and asks Dean if he has school work that requires attending to.

Dean doesn't know what to do with himself, so he withdraws to his room.

The week goes on with Sam being aloof and physically unresponsive. And between school and training, and studying for exams, Dean can't find the time to corner his mom and finally find out what's going on. _Roll on the weekend_, he thinks, because he really wants to get to the bottom of this.

On Thursday, late in the afternoon, Dean feels disenchanted with the cold situation at home, and he's climbing the walls. He decides to call Benny to see if he could come over to study with him. Cas is in early from work, a rarity but it happens, and Sam is showering his husband with attention. They're both ignoring him; Cas is not doing it on purpose, and Sam? Who knows what's going through his mommy's head right now. _Where else do you think Dean got his talent for closing up and shutting his emotions away?_

To make it all worse ... Dean has this dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach that his mom and dad might have sex tonight, and he's helpless to stop it, as always.

An hour after his call, Benny comes round and at least now Dean has someone to talk to.

Believe it or not, they do study for a bit, in Dean's room, but then Cas swings by and tells them that dinner is served. When they're at the table, everyone makes polite conversation - it's not too often that Dean brings friends to the house - and for some reason everything is a little awkward. Sam doesn't talk to Dean a lot, it's like he's avoiding him or something, and Cas is making small talk. Adam is being his cute self, and telling Benny about his day. At three, he can string some sentences together, already, and he likes talking.

The conversation inches forward until Benny starts talking about his obsession: hockey, and it's something that perks Cas' interest, and they start going on and on about the last hockey season, making projections as well about the next one. Dean's eyes are on his mom, trying to read him, get into his head. He's only distracted when Benny nudges him, and asks if he's willing to come over to his place and watch this recorded game, something that he's organizing some time next week. "It'll be fun. Ash will be there, Charlie too. And oh, bring your girlfriend."

Dean's heart skips a beat, he chokes on his food, coughs a little and his watery eyes jump to meet his mom's, who's not looking at him but who has stopped chewing now and is staring at his plate, frozen like a statue.

Dean didn't tell his family about _her_.

To his friends, she's his girl, but here, in the Winchester home, she's a nobody, or at least Dean would've wanted to keep it this way.

Dean clears his throat before responding, "Sure, Benny. I'll ask her." _Shit_. He now just confirmed it. _Shit, shit, shit._ He looks at his mom, and Sam's face is unreadable, but his ears and neck have turned beat red.

"Girlfriend? How come I don't know anything about this, young man?" Cas asks, not exactly sternly, but playing it up. He's barely keeping himself from beaming; it almost feels like Cas is mentally sighing in comfort. He adds: "Tell us about this girl, Dean."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam says, almost challenging, and he's practically glaring at Dean now. "Tell us about her."

"Erm, we haven't been together for long."

"What are you on about?! It's your longest relationship yet, Dean," his very dumb friend says. "And they're all over each other, sir," Benny adds addressing Cas.

"Benny!" Now it's Dean who's flushed, his face burning.

Why does it feel like he's been caught cheating on his mom, like he's been ratted out by Benny. Practically, there's nothing between him and his mom, but he still feels like the scum of the Earth, and his mom's reaction is not helping. Is he reading this right? Is Sam pretty mad at him?

If Sam is livid, Dean deserves it of course. Dean and Sam are best friends; he doesn't keep anything from him. So Sam probably feels betrayed, for not knowing. He'd feel the same in his shoes. For a moment, Dean feels like it could be more; he wants it to be more. A part of him has always been indignant at the thought of being forced to tell Sam about Rhonda, and another longed for Sam to find out ... to test his reaction, to spark his jealousy.

"Alright, Dean, I'm sorry. It's just that you've never stayed with anyone for this long. As your best buddy, I'm happy for you."

"So, who is she?"

"Dad, do I really have to do this? Benny, I'll kill you."

"What? Were you going to keep this from us forever?" It's Sam again.

"No! Ugh. It's just that-I hate chick flick moments, mom, alright? Talking about relationships and all that. And I'm not exactly getting married here. So there's no forever. Is this clear?"

"She's not an omega, is she?" It's Cas who's asking.

"No, dad, she's a beta. And her name is Rhonda."

"You know I've met your mom when I was your age. Are you in love yet?" Cas teases. He is enjoying this a little too much, on his son's expense. In fact, Dean's discomfort is egging Cas on. When Dean just glares at his dad, and doesn't respond, Cas continues, "Alright, that's enough. Dean, you're inviting your girl over. Your mother and I would like to meet her."

"Dad, come on, we're not even that serious. I don't wanna give her the wrong impression."

"And the right impression would be to hide her away from your family, Dean Winchester? You're already together from the sound of it. It's as serious as it gets for your age. Bring her here. No girl is dating a son of mine without passing our test."

"What? You're gonna let her jump through hoops for you?"

"Keep talking, and I very well might," says Cas winking at Sam, who gives him a tight smile back.

Castiel, for some reason that Dean is starting to feel in his bones, is suddenly very cheerful. _He knows_, Dean thinks, _about his feelings for Sam_. But Dean can afford to entertain the disturbing thought for a brief moment, before moving onto the more pressing issue: the fact that he'll have to ask Rhonda to come and meet the family. _To meet Sam. _

"Tomorrow night," Cas says and his tone is final. Dean nods slowly, his shoulders slumped, feeling defeated.

_This is going to be interesting. _

He most definitely will kill Benny.


	10. Small Betrayals (Chapter tag)

Sam was on his back, spread open, with Castiel on top of him, his husband's engorged, leaky cock ramming into him. If Castiel's thrusts weren't stimulating his sweet spot, sending the occassional electric jolt to Sam's cock, the latter wouldn't have taken interest at all, Sam realizes bitterly.

He's barely half-hard, despite the forced foreplay (in which Sam was hardly reciprocating) and the stroking of his prostate with every push.

And if Sam's hips are undulating, falling into a pulsing rhythm from time to time, it's a purely physical response. His head isn't in it.

In a first, Sam feels like sex with Cas is a temporal affair; not sensual, not spiritual, not even loving at the moment, at least as far as he's concerned. Because, above him, Castiel is going at it like there's no tomorrow. At least one of us is enjoying this, Sam thinks. Their marriage bed is protesting with regular creaks and it feels like it's going to give under their weight. Castiel's moans are muffled with his face buried in Sam's neck, his chin resting on Sam's right shoulder.

It's dark, save for a few feeble rays of warm street light creeping into the room through the window's half-pulled curtains. And Sam is thankful for that, because otherwise, Castiel will easily see the tears rolling silently across his wife's face, some pouring to the side, and pooling on his pillow, on opposite sides.

After the day was done, and the kids went to bed, Sam and Cas retired to their rooms, with Castiel beaming and with Sam barely able to contain the weight of the warring feelings inside his chest. The anger, disappointment, confusion and distress manifested in a knot, that wedged itself between his throat and collarbone and stayed there, making it hard to breathe or speak and harder to act like nothing is wrong.

When Cas asked Sam how come he never knew about Rhonda, a part of Sam - on autopilot - wanted to immediately defend Dean, make up excuses for him. But at that moment, he just couldn't.

"Because your son's a dick," Sam spat, surprising himself.

"Woah, touchy," commented Cas, and started going on about how at Dean's age, he too was surprised at his own feelings when he started crushing heavily on Sam, about how it's hard to interpret these new feelings sometimes and how Dean must have needed time considering it's his first "real" relationship.

Practically, Cas was a heartbeat away from planning Dean's wedding to this Rhonda, who would've been faceless to Sam if he hadn't made his own revelation around two weeks earlier.

It began with Dean's phone experiencing unprecedented activity; texts and phone calls around the clock. Sometimes, Dean would ignore the calls, which Sam was sure were returned later when his mommy wasn't in earshot, and other times he'd spend an hour or two texting back and forth with a mysterious someone. First, Sam brushed it aside, chalked it up to Dean widening his circle of friends. Dean always had buddies, sure, but he's always been more on the introverted side. He was never quite busy with those friends. But hey, a little surge of activity doesn't warrant suspicion.

But then, the texting sessions became more frequent, and when Sam asked, Dean would say it's Benny or Ash, or find a way to wriggle out of giving a proper answer, like giving Sam a name for instance. Because Sam knew in his heart that it was neither Benny nor Ash, but he could never explain, if asked, where this certainty came from. Sam found himself uncomfortable with the idea of his son keeping something from him - he didn't have proof per se that he was keeping secrets to begin with, but Sam had already been sensing that something has changed in his son, something that he quite couldn't put a finger on, something that only a mother, connected to his son in heart and soul, can sense.

The eerie feeling had lingered for months, but finally two weeks earlier, Sam decided to do something that's very unlike him: check Dean's phone behind his back.

It was compulsive, wrong, and Sam felt dirty doing it, but he did it anyway. He chose a moment when Dean was in the shower.

Once he heard the water running, Sam sneaked into his son's room and popped open his phone. Damn it, it was password protected. But in a moment of inspiration, Sam keyed in Adam's year of birth, and when it didn't work, his own year of birth, and Dean's phone unlocked. Too easy, De, Sam thought satisfied and feeling lucky, and proceeded to check Dean's messaging apps. Before he had a chance to do it, a picture message popped onto the screen with a beep that made Sam jump. He knew he was transgressing but he just had to see. The picture was of a blonde girl, a teen. She was buck naked and striking a sexy pose. Sam felt his chest close up, his cheeks burn and before he knew it, he was checking all the pictures saved on Dean's phone, and several were of the same blonde girl, including a selfie with the very pretty teenager lying topless in Dean's arms - free, uninhibited, her breasts womanly, round and her nipples puffy, perky and perfect, her blemish-free skin milky, and her look wanton and filled with want. She's everything Sam - in his early thirties, body exhausted by childbirth and mind burdened by insecurities and memories - will never be.

Sam felt like crashing the phone, trashing his son's entire room actually, then emptying his stomach in the nearest bin.

Since then, things haven't been the same. Sam hasn't been the same, and the realization that Dean is not only sleeping with someone but hiding her, like she's precious, felt like a hundred razors cutting Sam from the inside. The revelation left him with a lump in his throat, that stayed with him for days. What does this mean for them? Will Dean now start drifting away? Will he give up on their afternoons together in favor of spending time with his new flame? Will he leave Sam behind now that he's found someone to shower his affections on? What becomes of Sam if these two fall in love or get together? Will the girl be OK with how close Sam is to his son? Or will she try to break them apart?

Sam started wondering if Dean kisses the girl like he kisses Sam. Recently, Sam's and Dean's kisses have become hotter, deeper, frenzied - was Sam imagining it? Are his son's wires just crossed? Are Sam's?

Did I selfishly use my son's need for intimacy to get something I shouldn't have? Sam wondered, a shiver running through his body. Does Dean realize this on some level? Is it why he felt ashamed to tell me about the girl?

Sam couldn't think straight for a while. When Dean would hug him, or kiss his lips, something inside of him would recoil. He felt robbed of something big. He walked around, feeling like he should be mourning for something.

He thought about confronting his son, but he was too afraid of what he might find out, not just about Dean, but also about himself, in the process of doing so. So he drowned his feelings in house work and the occasional drink. Dean was always around, but Sam felt like he's miles away; he'd look at him and it's like he was seeing him for the first time, like someone swapped his son, who he knows inside out, like the back of his hand, his son whose love and smiles and kisses are for him, with some other teen, who now spends a long time sexting and exchanging pictures of private parts with a stranger, a girl than can never love him, and appreciate him like Sam does, but who can also give him everything that Sam can't.

Until a few hours earlier, it was almost bearable, until the ugly truth reared its head. It turns out it's not just a random girl, it's not a teenage sexapade, apparently Dean is dating the girl. Apparently, his son is serious enough that all his friends know about her, and according to Benny, she's it, she's his longest relationship.

"They're all over each other, sir."

Benny's words ring inside Sam's head as he's being fucked into the mattress by Castiel, transporting him back to the present moment, and Sam's eyes flood with a fresh outpouring of tears. He feels like hiding away, in a dark alcove, crying until his tears dry out, but right now, he's trapped in the hollow of Castiel's arms, being at once emotionally and physically engulfed by his husband's passionate display of love and lust, and suffocated by the smothering, oppressive closeness. He's being drenched in his husband's Alpha scent, and in a first, he hates it.

The thoughts, and the depth of his sadness, cause Sam's half-erection to finally completely wilt; at least now, his outside reflects his inside, because he's in no mood for sex, least of all this frantic pounding, but being Sam, he allowed it anyway, to please Cas. Always wanting to please Cas, or Adam, or ... Dean.

Dean. He almost whispers it, like he's supplicating to a saint or a deity, but catches himself in time. It's not something that he can explain, or wants to. Then again how can he tell Cas, or anyone else, that the moment he realized there was a contender for Dean's affections, that someone could steal his son away, something feral awoke inside of him; a desire to protect not just Dean, but himself, from this threatening predator.

And then how can he explain the consuming guilt? It's eating him up.

Why can't I be like other mothers? Be a little mad that my son has been hiding this from me. Instead of brooding, just get worried that he was having underage sex, ask him if he used protection, ground him for a weekend or something then sweep it under the carpet, and be friends again. Where is this scorching fire in my chest coming from? Am I jealous? He thinks darkly, and muffles a sob, or tries to. It's this moment that Cas's knot decides to swell, and lodge itself inside Sam's stretched, slick asshole.

Sam has been dreading this bit: the intimacy that follows the knotting. He doesn't want it right now, not from Cas.

Cas, who was just a moment ago, covering his neck, collarbone, and shoulders with kisses, biting and dragging his teeth across flesh, looks up, and of course, he can see the old tear tracks, and the fresh weeping.

He doesn't immediately ask, just searches Sam's face for a few moments. Their eyes meet, and for a second, Sam is filled with terror; the terror that creeps up in anyone when they feel the other person might be staring right into their soul; that they might figure them out after all. And right now, Sam isn't even sure what his soul would give away. He doesn't know himself, and he doesn't want to see any unwanted, disturbing truths reflected in Castiel's eyes, so he closes his eyelids, still sensing Castiel's face mere inches away from his, his breath blowing on his own lips, caressing it.

"What is it, darling? Tell me," Castiel says, very softly, his voice like butterfly kisses against Sam's sweat-damp skin.

More tears soak Sam's eyes. Then he lets go.

It's almost liberating that he's ceased control completely like this, that he's letting his body express its pain; letting the tears fall, thoughts swimming through his head uninhibited, letting his fears get the best of him, and finally laying himself open like this, right under Castiel's scrutiny.

He wants to tell Castiel that it's nothing, that it's the stress of house work, and taking care of Adam, and it's the brunt of his long hours away from home. He wants to tell him that he just misses him, or that he's lonely and wants him, more of him, every day. He wants to give him something that sounds reasonable and proper, and reassuring and loving. But instead, Sam starts sobbing loudly.

Shocked and confused, Castiel hugs him impossibly closer, carding his fingers through his hair, speaking softly to him, until Sam lets it all out. Until Sam calms, and until he can breathe evenly again.

When Cas finally pulls out, his knot deflated, Sam is spent, emotionally and mentally, and he barely feels it as Castiel leaves for a minute then slips back into the bed after he cleans up, and spoons him.

Sam sinks into a restless sleep.


	11. Star-crossed

Dean is furious and Benny has been apologizing profusely for spilling the beans about Rhonda for, like, the past 15 minutes. But Dean isn't having any of it. He rarely ever brings friends home, in general, and now he kind of regrets inviting Benny over tonight. Besides, he doesn't feel like sitting on the porch stairs with Benny right now, speaking in hushed tones so they're not overheard; he wants to be inside the house with his mom, to see how he's doing and to, sort of, monitor the situation.

Is his Sammy still fuming? Because he looked like he was fuming, only inwardly. What does he think of all this? Is he mad about not knowing or at the idea that Dean is seeing someone to begin with? If it's the latter, then there's hope. Then maybe it means his mom is starting to feel something too. It would mean their bond is being welded already; that his grand plan is working. It would also mean he's in deep trouble. And that he may be in fact ruining his own progress. He doesn't want to send mixed messages, here.

He wants to hear from Sammy - even get heavily scolded or get his ears boxed. He knows he deserves it, for hiding something so big from his mom.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop is unnerving.

Dean was also kind of hoping he could change his dad's mind about meeting Rhonda, there's no way he's bringing her into his home, to meet his parents, like she's a real girlfriend, like she matters. How could his dad think Dean is serious about her? How could Sammy?

In the worst case scenario, Dean thinks, if his dad insists, he'll just make something up, an excuse so Rhonda never has to show her face here. He'll do that repeatedly if he has to, until his dad eases off or gets off his back altogether.

Speaking of his dad, Dean can't hear anything from the house any more. Not Castiel or mom or Adam, or the usual post-dinner commotion. It's not a quiet house when his dad is around; his dad likes to fill everyone in on his day at the office, especially Sam.

Have they turned in already? Dear God, are they, you know, in their room, getting intimate right now, while Dean's on the porch, stuck with Benny?

Damn it.

After Dean feels Benny has been lectured enough for one night, the boys soon go back to talking about lighter things, like summer plans, their highly-anticipated venture into high school next year, and of course, the school's hot girls. At the moment, neither of them is in the mood for studying, that's how they ended up outside, and anyway, Benny should be leaving soon. Dean's mind and heart are half into the conversation with Benny, however. And what's said is nothing of real importance until Benny starts braving dangerously new territory: talking about Dean's mom. His Sam.

"You know, your mom is the first male omega that I ever get to know."

"Yeah. So?" Dean says, uneasy as to where this is headed. He realizes that it's not every day that people run into male Omegas. There aren't a lot of them. Still, it doesn't mean he wants to talk about his own.

"It's kinda hot."

"What do you mean?!" says Dean, a little incredulous. Benny has some nerves on him.

"Well, all I'm sayin' is that your dad is a lucky man. He gets to have an omega man. A male omega, for crying out loud! And so handsome. No wonder why he's so infatuated, even after all these years, it shows, man. Your dad worships your mom. My dad barely looks at my mom anymore. But your mom is-"

"Careful, Benny." Dean warns, partly furious just for the sole reason that Benny is talking about his dad and mom's relationship like it's unbreakable, like Sammy belongs to Castiel or something, like it's a done deal. Dean begs to differ. If he could, he would show Benny just how much his mom equally belongs to him, and that's just now. In the future, there will be no place for Castiel to begin with, if all goes as planned.

"I didn't say anythin' bad here. It's just that your mom is freakin' gorgeous. His body-"

"Woah, dude! Are you out of your mind?"

"What? He is gorgeous!"

And Benny is not wrong, especially today. Although his mom was brooding, his pout was so goddamn sexy it hurt Dean's heart just to look at him, all while fighting the urge to plant a hard-mouthed one on his lips, until he swoons.

And ever since Adam (who's three years old now) has been going slow on the nursing, and Dean not getting much of that either, with his mom being distant and withdrawn, Sam's chest has shrunk, his boobs becoming at least half a size smaller. Now that would have been bad if it weren't for the fact that because of the size shift, Sammy rarely ever wears a bra inside the house anymore, meaning Dean can usually get a glimpse of his perky nipples pushing against the thin shirts he always dons. On most days he could make out the shape of Sam's pecs through his shirts, and they're round and dainty, and it's so sexy how only a flimsy piece of fabric is separating them from Dean. He wishes he would bare them to his eyes, and eat them.

He hates the thought that Benny was most probably inspecting his mother, sizing him up and ogling his beautiful form. Maybe he noticed that his breasts were poking out. Maybe he dared to fantasize. He feels he should've been more watchful of Benny at dinner earlier, especially of where his eyes wander.

Benny is a typical Alpha, a knot-head, from a very traditional household, with an obnoxious, womanizing Alpha for a father and a submissive omega for a mother. When Dean first told Benny about his own mom, that he's a male omega, Benny was impressed, murmuring that omega men are as rare and precious as diamonds in this society. His dad's words too, not only his. He kept pestering Dean with questions. "Is your mom a submissive? Does he wear dresses?," and when Dean reluctantly responded, the insinuations in Benny's next questions became dirtier. "Does he wear lingerie around the house? Is his equipment, you know, big like Alphas? Is he womanly in any way?" Like Benny is trying to fucking picture it all.

It made Dean feel like his family is a freak show, like they should be featured on the National Geographic for fuck's sake.

He also never appreciated all the prodding, mainly because no, he doesn't like to publicize that his mom never wore dresses, or is not effeminate and has always refused to be prototypical in any way or form - except for bearing children and being OK with the label "mom" as opposed to being called "dad".

Imagine if he'd been forced to call Sam "dad" on top of all this. That would've been unacceptable, Dean thinks. He wouldn't have done it, on principle.

Dean usually gave Benny clipped answers, and he never humored his questions for too long.

And now, sitting on the porch after Rhonda-gate, he feels like shutting him up again, feeling increasingly protective of his mom, and sensing he might have been slightly violated by Benny's gaze at dinner, to Dean's utter oblivion. Benny better NOT be perving on his mom right now or imagining his mommy in compromising positions, with Castiel or otherwise. Dean would have his head on a stick if he feels Benny is entertaining any dirty thoughts about his Sammy.

So there. "Just shut the fuck up, before I make you Benny."

"Fine! I just envy your dad to be honest."

"Benny! You want a taste of my right hook?"

"Alright, alright," he says then his phone beeps. "Ok, time to go anyway. My ride's here," he motions with one hand in the general direction of the street, where a car is slowly approaching. "You alright, Dean? You seem a little on edge still."

"I'm OK, dude. I'll see you tomorrow at school, alright?"

"But we're OK? This Rhonda shit didn't make a dent in our friendship or anything?"

"Since when do you get all sensitive and caring Benny? Should I be worried?" Dean teases, amused by Benny's apologetic stance, and relieved he's leaving, along with all his curiosity about Sam. Benny is a pig sometimes.

"Just making sure my best friend is ok, asshole. Earlier, you were wound up tight. And you're still moody."

"Now, you're just turning into a girl. Get going, Ben, before our balls shrink and we grow lady parts sitting here talking about feelings."

"Right. See you tomorrow, ballsack."

"See ye, jerk!"

...

Later that night

Dean is suddenly awake, his sleep was awfully restless anyway due to the realization that his mom and dad are locked up in their room, probably going at it like bunnies. In moments like these, Dean loathes his dad and he feels like punching holes through the wall from sheer frustration and jealousy. In a weird way, he's in a better form than he ever were, having marginally trained himself to get used to the idea that his parents are regularly sleeping together, and that this will continue, at least until his plan is complete and he'd managed to separate them - and yes, Dean doesn't have any qualms thinking about driving a wedge between Sammy and Castiel. It's meant to be. He didn't force himself to want his mom, it just happened. He's not evil. Sure, it's unfortunate that his dad would have to step aside, but it is what it is. The alternative would be Dean giving up his right to his omega, and sorry but he can't do that, not even for his dad, who's barely traditional anyway. Castiel is most welcome to go look for another omega, or even a beta (since he'll treat his omega like one anyway), and fall in love with him or her. Dean doesn't mind a step-mom or dad, he's an easy son.

He looks at his bedside clock. It's 12:24 am. And he's barely had any proper sleep. And it doesn't look like he'll have any tonight.

Shit, waking up for school will be a bitch tomorrow.

He tries to doze off again, but fails. Instead, he keeps rolling around in the bed, from side to side. Kicking the thin blanket off then pulling it back on his body again, changing positions every few seconds, sprawling then curling up on himself, and finally utterly failing to find a resting state that would put him at ease and help him slip back into slumber.

So in the end, Dean gives up, jumps out of bed and decides to leave his room altogether.

He's in his boxers, hair mussy and eyes bloodshot - but it's not like anyone's gonna see him anyway.

If he can't have some decent shut-eye or manage to go back to sleep, he might as well properly wake up, eyes wide open. If his parents didn't forbid it, he would put something on and go for an after-midnight run, to get the tension out of his system (he asked once before, and he was given the stink eye by his mom). It's not like he'll be eaten by wild dogs if he ventures alone at night, he's a strong kid and an Alpha, and a boxer with a promising future in the sport on top of that, he can take most people. But, yeah, his mom was up in arms against the idea. And his dad backed Sammy up completely.

Outnumbered, Dean didn't bring it up again.

Perhaps he'll go check on Adam, he thinks, then trudges barefoot to Adam's room. Adam is sound asleep, looking like a little angel. He looks more like Dean than he does either Castiel or Sam, and Dean finds it endearing. God, does Dean love this kid! He bends forward and plants a soft kiss on his little brother's forehead, then watches him sleep for a few moments. It's actually relaxing just looking at his baby brother, sleeping so serenely without any burdens, Dean thinks.

For a second he wonders about how his plan will affect Adam, if burdens will eventually find their way to him, because of Dean's silent plotting, especially when Adam grows up in a broken home if Dean has his way.

The thought is disturbing and Dean quickly dismisses it. It won't be a broken home; it'll be a loving one, where Dean and Sam are openly together, for good, and Adam is loved and cared for by both of them. Dean will always protect Adam. He'll die before harming him in any way. Castiel would still be there of course, albeit on the peripheries, as their father, but not as Sam's lover or husband.

"It'll be OK," Dean whispers to his oblivious sibling, as if the alternative non-painful future he drew in his head to calm his conscience is secured and sealed.

When he finally leaves Adam's room, ready to walk down to the kitchen for some chow (because seriously, he's got nothing better to do) a small sound from the nearby bathroom catches Dean's attention. He treads lightly towards it and it sounds like someone's retching. Worried, Dean knocks on the door. "Is everything alright in there?" It's his mom who answers on the other side, after a long pause, with the affirmative.

God, it sounds like his mommy is sick and now Dean feels a hundred times guiltier than before he went to sleep. Of all the days on Earth, Benny chose today to rat him out, when things are already tricky with his mom, and when Sammy is obviously sick. He thought he forgave the bastard, but you know what, fuck it, he's cutting him out. Stupid Benny!

"You don't sound so good, mom," he responds back.

"It's OK, Dean. Just go back to bed." His mom sounds like he will pass out or something.

"No, I'm coming in," he says, as he turns the door knob, and as per usual, it's unlocked. Sam is the kind of parent who shuts his bathroom door but doesn't lock it, just in case. With a toddler in the house, it makes sense. Sam likes to be available at all times, and he generally doesn't set strict boundaries for his children either - a glaringly obvious trait! Dean usually respects his mom's restroom privacy but he's not doing this now, not when Sammy sounds like he's in distress.

He lets himself in and shuts the door behind him. Sam is on his knees, bent over the toilet bowl, and when he sees Dean walking in, he can't help the wave of nausea that overtakes him and he starts dry heaving into the bowl again. Sam's mouth remains dry. Nothing is actually happening except that it looks like Sammy is on the verge of hyperventilating, and Dean is immediately overcome with worry over his mom, and now he's bursting at the seams with guilt.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" He says as he approaches, sitting himself down beside his mom, who's sweaty and looking worn out. Sam is wearing only a threadbare shirt and a pair of shorts that don't hide much of his long legs and toned thighs. Otherwise, his hair is damp and his eyes are swollen with tears, and he looks utterly miserable. "Just a little queazy, Dean," his mom whispers and it's the understatement of the century.

Dean's heart breaks a little. He suddenly feels like hugging his mommy so tight neither of them can breathe, putting into the hug all of his love and his longing until the intensity of it consumes them both. Suddenly, he feels like a piece of shit for even allowing someone like Rhonda into his life, and not just devoting his all to his mom. What the hell were you thinking Winchester? He scolds himself, as he gives his mom another once-over and takes in his sorry state. He knows it's probably not him that's causing all this, his mom might be coming down with something, but still, he must have contributed somehow. He can feel it.

"Mom," he says softly.

"What are you doing here, Dean? Really? Go back to your room."

"No!"

"No?"

"Yeah, you heard me, mom. I'm not leaving you."

His mom softens a little. "It's nothing. I'm probably coming down with something, and whatever it is, I don't want you to catch it from me. You've got school tomorrow, you shouldn't be up, Dean. It's past midnight."

"Fuck school," Dean retorts.

"Dean!"

"Mom, you're more important. And it's not just stomach upset, you've been crying. You're clearly upset!"

His mom tears up, and shakes his head no.

Sammy's kidding himself if he thinks Dean's budging before he gets to the bottom of this. Something's been off with his mom for weeks and he knows it. Maybe Sam's not sick. He's heaving, but he's not actually throwing up - it looks more like he's having difficulty breathing more than anything else. Maybe this is some kind of a panic attack.

"Mommy, look ..."

"Enough, Dean! Just leave," Sam says, his attempt at being firm and final failing miserably as more tears spring to his eyes. Dean's heart breaks into a million pieces, and he can't help but throw himself into his mom's arms. To his surprise, his mom hugs him back, just as fiercely, heaving sobs racking his body.

They stay like this, locked in each other's arms, for a minute or so, until his mom calms down a little. It's Dean who pulls back to look at his face, and gaze into his eyes - hoping to see some truth there, or at least some clues to what's ruffling Sam's feathers so. When his mom looks back, Dean can get a glimpse into the depth of his sadness, and confusion, and Dean is suddenly, completely rattled by the idea that Rhonda, and his relationship with her, might have caused some of this. He decides to broach the subject head on. No more dancing around it, he can't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry about Rhonda," he whispers. And Sam breaks eye contact and pulls away, or tries to. Dean holds on tighter. "No, mom, let me say this. I can see it's bothering you."

"It's fine, Dean," he says, dismissive, squirming, obviously wanting to escape from Dean's arms.

"No, it's not. But I want you to know I kept it to myself because it means nothing. Nothing, Ok?" Sam just shakes his head, a single tear escapes his eye, and he smiles, unbelieving.

"I'm not lying to you, mom. Mom, look at me! Come on ... Sammy!" That gets his mom's attention, and keeps it on him. He's never called him Sammy before. His mom is more confused now, but attentive, locking eyes with his son again. "I would never, ever lie to you about something like this. You're everything," he says, then he gently places a hand at the side of Sam's face, and start kissing his wet-with-tears lips.

As he does, his mom's shoulders drop, like all the fight is leaving his body. Dean deepens his kiss, and brings on his A-game for this one, the tip of his tongue pushing off against Sam's lips, wanting to get inside. Sam opens up for him, without hesitation, and Dean starts moving his open mouth against Sam's, their tongues twisting around each other, tasting and devouring.

When it's done, they're both slightly panting from lack of air and are a little worse for wear, in a good way. Color is creeping back into Sam's face, and he looks less distraught. Dean gently takes him back into his arms and rests his forehead against his mom's. They close their eyes, and just melt into the comfort of each other's embrace.

After another moment of silence, his mom speaks up.

"Why didn't you tell me? I mean, I understand when you say it's not important but why keep it all from me?"

"I ..." Dean breathes out then stops.

"I saw the pictures on your phone, of her," Sam says, quietly, and Dean's heart drops. He opens his eyes, but his mom's are still shut. "A few weeks back. I'm sorry I went looking." That doesn't make sense, Dean thinks.

Or maybe it does. Could it be? Could this be why his mom was aloof. Was he angry at Dean for hiding her? or is it something more? Sam can't even get himself to say Rhonda's name, apparently... Does his mom feel it too? What's between them? Are they finally coming to the same page, here?

Dean is suddenly dizzy with the near-revelation and the possibilities it holds, for him, for them!

"You slept with her, Dean."

"Yeah. I did. She's not the only one."

His mom swallows audibly, still resting against him, but now turns his face to the side. Their foreheads are still connecting, albeit at different angles.

"I love you, mom." It just slips out of Dean. He doesn't know what else to say. What is there to say really, except that? And he doesn't mean it the platonic way. And on some level, his mom senses it, because he pulls back, and so does Dean, and they stare into each other's eyes, his mom's searching his, almost desperately.

He repeats it for good measure, stressing on every word. "I love you."

Sam nods, and for the first time Dean knows that his mom finally gets it ... gets what it really means.

He looks away, shakes his head a little, like he's dismissing a thought. "Dean, I can't ..."

And suddenly, it feels like a burden has been lifted despite Sammy's words, despite his "I can't". Dean is talking openly - as openly as he can, at this point - about something he feels like he's been bottling inside his chest for centuries, instead of a few years.

"Can't or won't?" He asks softly.

His mom laughs a little laugh but it's mirthless. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me!" Dean insists, his voice pleading.

"Dean, it's ... uh, complicated."

Dean nods.

"Ok, you know what?" Dean says, inspiration hitting him in the depth of the moment. "Right now, it's not. Right now, you're tired, and hurt. I hurt you, mom. And I wanna make it up to you. As your son. As someone who worships you. Let me do this for you." Sam face lights up at the words. And Dean says them but doesn't wait for an answer.

He takes his mommy's arm and helps him stand up. Sam's knees are a little wobbly from kneeling for so long but he balances himself with Dean's aid. Dean drags Sam slowly to the bathroom mirror, which takes a big portion of one wall. He makes him face it, and Sam is reflected in it from his head to the end of his torso now, Dean standing behind him and slightly to his left. Dean may be heavily built and he's the tallest among his friends, nearing six feet at barely 16, but Sam is at least four inches taller than his son.

Sam leans against Dean and is taking heavy breaths, his eyes are closed, like he's bracing himself for something, like he's on the verge of jumping off a plank into unknown waters and he can't bear to look. Dean caresses his arms lightly with the tips of his fingers to relax him, gets on tiptoes and plants a barely-there kiss on the side of his jaw, then another lower on his neck, and whispers, "beautiful". And for the second time tonight, Sam exhales and relaxes, most of the tension leaves his body.

"Mom, open your eyes," he whispers, almost into his ears. And Sammy's obviously reluctant, but after a couple of seconds, does it anyway. "Look at you. The most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes upon," Dean says and starts caressing him again with a finger as he speaks. "Your face, your eyes, your cheekbones, your lips," Dean continues as he runs a finger across Sam's face and along the fullness of his lips. "Your arms, your breasts," he adds, trailing his fingers gently up his mom's right arm, across his collarbone then down. He cups a boob, fondling it, and rubs his thumb against the nipple. "So pretty, mom. ... Hey. Look at me, sweetheart. Do you know how long I've loved you?"

Sam's eyes meet Dean's in the mirror and they fill with tears at the question. Sam slowly nods. Dean smiles wide, "good," he says, then turns Sam's face to the side, and gives his towering mommy a deep, lingering kiss. "Let me take care of you for once. Let me wash you," Dean says right into Sammy's lips, and again, Sammy nods, like he's hypnotized. Dean gives him another peck on the lips, and thinks this is it. This is the beginning of everything.

He leaves his mom for just a moment to turn on the shower water, close the tub's drain stopper and let it fill as the water sprays. He locks the bathroom door, then he gets back to their position at the mirror. "I want you to watch, sweetheart, as I undress you. I want you to see how beautiful you are. How perfect."

And it's like a dream how Sammy, his mom, lets himself go and lets Dean take off his clothes - he raises his arms above his head as Dean takes his shirt off, watches his breasts get bared to his son's eyes, looks at Dean looking at him, eating him with his eyes, he doesn't flinch when Dean tugs on the waistbands of his shorts and slips them off of him. He steps out of them, the air touching his uncovered skin, making him conscious of his nudity, his naked ass, his cock soft but filling up, slowly jutting out of a nest of dark hair, as Dean watches. His own son looking at him, like this, taking him all in, from head to toe.

Sam is blushing furiously, but he's letting it all happen. At Dean's direction, he steps under the warm spray of water.

Dean slips off his boxers too, and joins him.

His son is hard and Sam's now staring at his impressive girth, both proud and intrigued ... and suddenly more than a little afraid. It suddenly hits him what he's allowing his son and him to have, if only for a moment. As if sensing his fear, Dean tells him not to think. "Just feel. Right now, we're not mother and son. We're just two people who love each other ... OK? In this moment, we can be together. Please, please ... for me."

They stand under the shower, for a few minutes, mesmerized, both watching each other and almost afraid to touch. Dean can't believe he's having this moment, that he's standing in the shower with his buck naked mom, finally, free to look, at his breasts, his stomach, his groin, his long legs ... his nakedness, his most private parts are his, at least for the moment.

Their feet are immersed in water now, the tub is almost half filled. Dean turns off the spray and tells his mom to just lay back in the water, as he sits at his feet, at the other end of the tub. "Just lay back mom, relax and close your eyes." The water doesn't quite cover Sam's big body, and his breasts and cock, parts of his thighs and his bent knees jut out of the water.

When Sam settles back, Dean takes Sam's right foot into the palms of his hands. He cradles it and begins kneading, massaging it all over and tugging on the toes. As he relaxes even more, trusting, Sam lets his thighs fall open and Dean watches Sam's half-flaccid cock grow before his eyes. Sam is well aware he's being watched, that his nudity is very much being observed and it sends a tingle down his spine and he gets butterflies in his stomach - just from being looked at like this. Dean enjoys the view as he rubs the sole of one foot after the other with his fingers, then he runs his open mouth along Sam's beautiful feet, and lovingly sucks his toes.

When he's done, his mom is fully hard, and leaking precum - and just the act of watching that, his mom getting hot and bothered, being massaged into a hard-on, right under his gaze, was enough to send Dean's blood pooling to his groin, leaving him with a raging hard-on.

He lets Sam's feet go, and slowly crawls into his mom's arms, and lies on top of him, their hard cocks lined up, touching, and their faces inches away from each other. Sam opens his eyes for a moment, his lids lazy and droopy, his mouth pouting, his cheeks flushed and his pupils blown wide, and Dean thinks, "this is it," and starts rubbing his full length against Sam's.

Dean's in heaven. Sam's head falls slightly back, and Dean thinks, this is what his mom looks like when he's in the throes of pleasure. It's not a fantasy, he's not dreaming, he's witnessing it for real. His mom moans sweetly and Dean chooses this moment to lock their lips together, swallow the moan and they kiss opened mouthed as they rut heavily into each other, skin on skin, nothing between them, their cocks hard, heavy and drooling. It takes only an embarrassingly few moments before Dean loses it and he comes all over himself and his mom, the orgasm barreling through him and taking his breath away.

Sam is hot on his heels, his body seizing and his moans drowned by his son's open-mouthed kisses. They continue devouring each other's lips for minutes, then Dean feels something else, like his mommy is getting another orgasm, he can feel the racking vibration travel across his mom's body, who's plastered to his, almost from head to toe (if it weren't for the height difference), and his mom moans again. Dean pulls away, a line of spit connecting his lips to his mom's. "What was that?" he whispers, and his mom is very obviously embarrassed, a serious flush is creeping up his face. He looks away, avoiding eye contact. Dean pulls away a little, looks between them, at their cocks, and it looks like Sam just spilled his seed, from his dick, and it's a full orgasm. A second one. That's impossible for an omega, in his age, unless ...

What? Was the first time ... "Mommy, did you squirt? The first time, was that your asshole?" If possible, Sam turned even redder and one hand came up to cover his face. "Oh dear God," he says, panting like he's been running a marathon. Dean, who's beaming now, can't help asking, "Does this happen a lot? I mean, I know you get wet down there when you're turned on but are you used to orgasming this way, from your butthole?" For a moment it looks like his mom won't answer, just talking about it sends a dark thrill through Dean's body. His mommy squirted, in his arms, like a girl. His cunt gushing out slick. Dean is building up to another orgasm just thinking about what just happened. It's fucking dirty. Imagine how Sam feels.

Finally, Sam shakes his head no. Then confirms it in words, "no. It's, uhm, my first time." Poor Sam looks like he's going to cry. His first time and Dean is proudly responsible for it. He feels like it should be on the news. Sam's shame is turning him on even more.

Dean reaches out, takes Sam's hand away from his face, and into his own, interlacing their fingers together. He waits. When his mom finally opens his eyes, and looks back at him, cheeks beautifully red, Dean smiles, then whispers against Sam's mouth, "One day, I will make you feel so damn good, kiss you all over, touch you, take you apart. But this time, I will sit between your open legs, I will look at your gaping asshole and I'll watch you cum like this." He kisses him hard. "It's a promise, Sammy."

...

Hours later, when the sun has come up, Castiel wakes up to find his bed cold and empty. Huh. Sam must have waken up before him, he thinks and pushes himself out of the bed. The house is quiet, not like it would if Sam had woken up first for an early shower, to feed Adam, or to prepare breakfast down in the kitchen. As he passes by Dean's room, something inside of Cas beckons and he decides to quietly open the door and check on his son.

And there is Sam, locked with Dean in an embrace so tight, you can't tell the young man and his mom apart, where one begins and the other ends, their limbs tangled together and their faces up against each other, their mouths breathing the same air. Like lovers, Cas thinks and he's immediately overcome by a brand of jealousy he rarely ever experiences when it comes to his son's and Sam's relationship.

Yesterday, only yesterday, his wife was distant and burdened, crying through sex and Castiel couldn't comfort him, and now he's lying in his Alpha son's arms like he belongs there, his face restful and blissed out.

Perhaps for the first time, Castiel feels like he's lacking, like he's not enough for Sam, and it makes him feel small, and useless. And somehow Dean has something to do with this, and Cas feels it's more direct than meets the eye. As if, for some reason, Dean is purposely driving them apart. No, it can't be.

But still, their closeness, how they're tied up together, that just can't be normal, Cas thinks. He releases a sigh and he decides to talk to Sam about it - not in passing, not on the sidelines of another argument but for real this time.

He dares to look at them again, holding tight to each other, even in sleep, like they're the last two people on Earth, then he gets out, and shuts Dean's bedroom behind him.

You must put a stopper on this ... thing, Castiel. This unhealthy co-dependencey, he thinks darkly, a lump getting wedged in his throat, his heart already feeling the heaviness of that inevitable conversation with Sam.

Castiel gets ready for work, makes his own breakfast, and as he does, he thinks he knows what he might do about it, for starters. He just hopes his wife won't hate him for it.


	12. Breaking up, breaking down

Following their steamy night together, Dean oversleeps.

So the next morning, when he realises his tardiness, he jumps out of bed (jolting his mother awake as he does) and he gets ready for school in a rush. He is barely able to mouth a few words to his mother, as Sam prepares some sandwiches for him, before he is forced to snatch them out of Sam's hands and shoot off to catch his ride with Jo and Ellen as he does some mornings.

Before he leaves, though, he remembers to give Sammy a small peck on the mouth but that's it.

Even in his hurry, Dean is able to feel how Sam has already slipped into the "mommy" frame of mind. Last night, after their intimate time under the shower, they got dressed, and slipped into bed together, facing each other. They murmured sweet nothings into each other's lips and slept soundly in each other's arms. During those moments, Dean had felt they were together together. Almost like husband and wife. And he guesses, the feeling was mutual.

It was a delicious sensation.

But now, he's not so sure. In the light of day, things are off. Of course, he had expected his mom to still resist this new thing between them, to relapse and to take sanctuary in denial, at first, but eventually, Dean thinks Sammy should come around.

_At least, it's what he hopes and prays for._

The school day inches forward and Dean is itching for it to end so that he can meet up with Rhonda after. He told her earlier he wanted to talk to her. She said OK. When she leaned forward for a kiss, however, Dean turned his face sideways and Rhonda took the hint, and backed off. She looked curious but she didn't ask.

_Smart girl._ She knows when he's bottled up tight. Dean guesses it shows in his features, in his eyes, in the way he carries himself.

When it was finally time for them to meet, Rhonda was late. Dean stood outside of school shifting nervously on his feet, and checking his watch every few minutes. It's 10 minutes past their meeting time. 15 minutes. Now 20.

Thirty long minutes later, Rhonda appears, and Dean is furious she kept him waiting cos he's due for boxing soon.

But he doesn't want to be sidetracked. He's not here to talk to Rhonda about her erratic habits or general lack of responsibility. He's here to fuckin' end whatever it is that's between them.

When he goes back to Sammy, he wants to tell him that Rhonda is history - it's the least he can do, it'll be his apology.

When Rhonda's close enough to him to be in earshot, Dean smirks and asks if she's finally done blowing the football team. Rhonda, uncharacteristically, looks hurt by the sneer. Dean doesn't even bother listening to her excuses as she rambles. Detention, she says. Dean can't care less at the moment.

He doesn't beat around the bush.

"Listen, Rhonda. I'll be forward here. You and I? We're done."

"Slow down, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Nothing. It's just, it's not working. Stops here."

"Really? That's it? You owe me some explanation, dude. We've been together, like what, two, three months? I've never had this before."

"Actually, we've never been together. Not really. I was clear from the onset, Rhonda. This was never headed anywhere. It's just sex ... Was."

"You don't have to sugarcoat it for my benefit, hun," she says, sarcastic, and for a moment, she looks older than her years. Like a woman who's been hurt and trampled on over and over. Like someone who knows the drill.

"Can't think how you could've expected anything else, considering ... " Dean trails off, and just gestures meaningfully between them.

"Well, yeah. You introduced me to your friends," she says it, like she hasn't seen it coming, clearly bewildered, and she's back to sounding like the teen that she is again. "Paraded me, more like it. I thought, you know-"

"Yeah, whatever it is, I don't wanna hear any more of it, Rhonda. Bottom line? You thought wrong."

"You know what? You're a jackass, Dean!"

"Whatever," Dean says, then notices how flushed Rhonda's face is and how her speech is somewhat slurred, only a little but Dean is observant. "Wait, have you been drinking?"

"No!" she says, then shrugs "Ok, I might have had a few brews." She smiles wryly and wiggles her eyebrows. Totally inappropriate, thinks Dean, considering they just "broke up" and she'd just started calling him names.

"At school? For fuck's sake Rhonda. Go easy on the alcohol ... and on rule breaking. Sometimes, it's not as cool as you think." For a second there, even Dean thought he might have been genuinely concerned. He sure sounds like it. But he doesn't stop to mull it over, and barrels on. "You know what? I don't care," he says, hands up in the air ... "So am I clear? Will you remember this conversation tomorrow?"

"I'm not gone, Dean, it was just a couple of beers. I'll remember," she says, and her frown is back. And that look of hurt from earlier.

Sure, Rhonda is a slut, and she's older, but did Dean expect her not to have feelings at all? Obviously, she has some. Maybe she actually likes him or something, like she might have developed feelings, Dean thinks and shudders at the thought. It's easier to break up with someone knowing they were both goofing off, playing around, anything but being serious. But if feelings are involved ... well, he can't do a thing about it anyway, not now.

He starts backing off, when Rhonda asks: "So who is it? Is it the boy or someone new?"

Dean shakes his head, frustrated. "It's none of your business," he says, turning away.

"Oh well, good luck Dean," she calls out after him, her voice now pitched a little higher. "I really mean it. Cos from the sound of it, if it's the thing with the married boy, you'll need some luck ... And by the way, when the whole thing crashes and burns, you'll come crawling back to Rhonda."

This makes Dean's blood boil but he suppresses it. It's the malice, and sheer confidence, lacing her words that anger him.

He slows down, and turns, taps his watch and tells her he's gotta run. He notices her eyes are teary. He's surprised but that doesn't stop him from being final about it all. "Gotta catch training. You done?"

She crosses her arms, looks away huffing a breath, then looks back at him again, meeting his eye: "See you later, Dean." It feels like a challenge, Dean thinks.

"Don't think so. Bye, Rhonda."

"Tall order," she spits, and Dean doesn't grace it with a response.

...

On his way back from work, Castiel decides to do something he hasn't done in a long time: swing by his parents' house.

He knows his dad is away on business; he keeps tabs on the going ons of his family, albeit from a distance, mainly through his sister Naomi whom he calls regularly.

Generally, his mother and Naomi are his favorites. He's emotionally distant with everyone else, and considering how he was brought up, Cas doesn't think anyone can blame him.

When he arrives there, even Naomi is out with friends, and it's only his mother, Deanna, who's at home.

Castiel's family can afford to hire several housekeepers and one of them lets him in.

He's in the terrace, gazing into the distance, enjoying their well-kept garden view, when his mom walks in on him. She still looks surprised that he's here, but unlike his father, Deanna is always welcoming and usually refrains from asking too many questions - Castiel believes it's partly due to her omega nature and how she's conditioned not to challenge or cause discomfort to an Alpha.

That being said, his mom is anything but submissive. Castiel's parents are blindly traditional and Deanna is a typical omega in many ways except for that. In her own very sly, passive aggressive way, she can hold her own. She even tricks his father sometimes into submitting to her will, mostly through the power of suggestion.

Castiel used to marvel at how she does it. He used to be proud of her for managing like this in a house full of Alphas. That is, until, Deanna didn't bat an eyelid when Cas was thrown out of favor for choosing Sam.

It was probably of course because she didn't approve either - she tried to change his mind many times over. All the same, Castiel had expected his mom to have his back, and for a long while, he resented the fact that when it came to Sam, she didn't and he was on his own. Only Naomi was mildly sympathetic.

But this is all in the past. Now, they've all reached a peaceful understanding, and Castiel had managed to forgive the majority of their actions, even found it in himself to appreciate and love his family again. His father - who rarely initiates contact - even called him a month earlier informing him that he is to make arrangements to be there during the Lupercalia festival next year, "with your family," his father had said, emphasizing the words, almost enunciating them, to indicate that Sam must come along, since he's usually absent from any Winchester family gatherings. It's a long enough notice. His father was making sure Castiel would have no excuse not to attend, along with Sam, and the kids of course.

At the beginning, Sam was (like Cas) barred from the Winchester house. When amends were made and Sam was finally allowed to be part of the family functions again, his wife was reluctant to make any appearances. Sam almost always chose to fall back, and let Castiel make appearances alone with Dean and Adam - something that Castiel's father saw as another sign of weakness; a proof that Castiel can't control his omega, and a potent reminder that his son had parted with their traditions and lifestyle.

But it looks like, at the Lupercalia, Sam has to be there, and it's Castiel's father that is putting his foot down this time and is making the decision for all of them.

Castiel doesn't mind it, since Dean's Alpha status will be officially acknowledged and celebrated, and it's a big deal. Considering how Dean's nature is shaped, from what Cas can tell, Dean wouldn't want to miss it either. Cas thinks Sam should be there for his son's coming of age as well.

On the terrace, though, all these thoughts are skipped in favor of greeting Deanna. Cas bends forward to pull his much shorter mother into his arms, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. After giving her a brief report of their latest, including his upcoming promotion, almost a reality now, Deanna smiles softly then asks how he's really doing.

"I'm fine, I guess. Just a little overworked."

His mother gives a knowing smile, about to say something when a female servant comes in with a tray. "Here, have some camomile," she says, offering him one of the tea cups. "I've asked Jill to add some cinnamon to it. It's the way you like it, isn't it?" It's not a question. His mother knows him inside out.

Castiel takes the tea and it's just the right temperature. When he starts sipping, the warm juice warms him up inside, and the smell relaxes him. He closes his eyes, savoring.

"So, trouble in paradise?" his mom asks, seemingly nonchalant, like she's talking about the weather.

"Nah, Sam and I are good." Cas lies, a lump rising in his throat at the mention of his wife. Then he remembers the night before, the crying, his failure to comfort Sam and Sam ending up in Dean's bed. He clears the imaginary mass in his throat and swallows. "Why would you think so, mom?"

"Well, you're here to talk about something."

Castiel throws his head back and smiles, amused. "Can't a son swing by to see his mother these days without harboring an agenda?"

"A son can. But you're not here just to see me, sweetheart. And we both know it," she says it and sips on her own tea, smiling.

There's not a hint of resentment in her voice. She's always genuinely happy when Castiel seeks her - it's not very often that he does anymore, not since he married Sam, but it still happens sometimes. Cas and Deanna always had a special relationship. Of all her sons, he was the closest to her. Perhaps it's his dampened Alpha nature, and his reluctance to give orders, his sensitivity growing up (especially after he met Sam), that endeared him to her - the opposite of the effect all this had on Castiel's father.

Castiel sighs, gives his mother a long look and somehow he feels she knows already what all his woes are for, even if she really doesn't.

"I want to send Dean away," he says finally, his voice even.

His mom nods, like she expected it. Of course, she didn't. She's not privy to Castiel's thoughts, or the details of his life. But her nod is one of understanding, or perhaps foresight. Like she knew things would eventually come to that.

"Where to?"

"Haven't decided on this yet. Perhaps here? I don't know."

"Clearly, you don't," says his mom, her tone suddenly acquiring a firmer tang. "You know our ways Castiel. This is a traditional household. Your father still rules this house. You surely don't expect Dean to fit in, or fall in line, considering the way you've raised him, do you? It will be hard on all of us. And Dean is almost a man, now. A boarding school will do him better. It'll be painfully difficult to bend him out of shape and force him to follow our house rules. And if he's anything like you or Sam, it will be impossible to tame him."

"That's the thing, mother. Dean is different." _Like my father and my brothers_, he almost says. He swallows the words, and thinks of a way to put this, without sounding like he's regretting the lifestyle he chose or failing to control his own son's leanings towards the tradition.

His mom doesn't comment, just waits for him to collect his thoughts.

As if responding to an unasked question, Castiel, now getting worked up (though still projecting a calm manner), begins again, "I can't describe it. He's not like me or Sam. He has his own ... thoughts."

"Did he voice any objections to your lifestyle?"

"Not in words."

"Ok, sweetheart, what's really at stake here? And what does your wife think of this?"

"Sam, ha!" Cas says, and shakes his head. "Sam doesn't see a problem. He's ... well, he's Sam. He worships the ground Dean walks on, and Dean ends up walking all over us. Or tries."

"Hmmm."

Somehow, her silence sounds accusing to Castiel's ears, like his mom wants to ask Cas, what did you expect?

"Mother, it's not us. There's nothing wrong with the way we raised him."

"Well, and I didn't suggest it!"

"Perhaps Sam was a little too lenient. But I overcompensated in this area," Casiel says, clearly still defensive.

It's his mother's turn to sigh.

"What is this really about, Castiel?"

Cas doesn't know where to begin. So he stays silent and looks away, contemplating. He knows his mother is watching closely, he can almost feel his thoughts being read, his every gesture processed and analyzed. His mother, however, doesn't force an answer out of him, instead joins him in his silence.

After a while, not too long, Deanna moves closer to him then takes one of his hands in both of hers and squeezes, reassuring. "It's fine not to know, Castiel. Not to feel in control. The uncertainty. It comes with being a parent."

"How did father do it?" Cas asks watching their clasped hands, grateful for the warmth it's pumping into him.

"You know how, son," says his mom, her lips pursed, like she's lightly scolding. She's not.

"Yeah, I guess," Castiel says, then gently slips his hand out of his mother's, and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"Have you been sleeping well?"

"Not really."

"Well, here's what you could do. How about you sleep tonight, and we talk again tomorrow? I'm assuming you haven't talked to your wife about sending Dean away."

"You're correct in your assumption, mother."

"Well then, if you want my advise, talk to Sam. And if you're serious about having Dean move here, we'll discuss the details then. I'd be happy to. But at least give me a chance to test the waters with your father, see if he'll like the idea to begin with. See if he has any considerations. And God knows, even if agrees, he'll want to lay down some laws. And trust me, knowing you, sweetheart, you'll hate most of them."

Castiel huffs a laugh. "You bet," he says, and he feels grateful for his mother.

She's right. He should talk to Sam first. He should think about what this means for all of them. And man, he should sleep. His mother and him talk some more, casually, about Naomi, the family business, and his brothers, then Castiel soon excuses himself to leave.

He's already tired by work and a mind that doesn't wane. His mother gives him a parting hug that for a moment makes it feel like things are right again. Then Castiel takes off. On his way home, his phone rings, and it's Sam.

...

Sam spends the day doing everything mechanically. He's on autopilot when he's arranging beds, cleaning the house, feeding and bathing Adam plus entertaining him, going out for some grocery shopping, cooking lunch, and then starting early on dinner preparations as he tries to subdue a moody Adam. In that order.

Except for the few hours of sleep he caught last night, he has been insomniac and in turn dead on his feet for weeks.

He hasn't eaten anything either. He doesn't feel like tasting food today. And he feels he'll soon empty his stomach if he does.

Dean will be late today on account of boxing training, and God knows when Castiel will finish work.

So, in conclusion, he's running on an empty stomach, on little sleep, and he's on his own ...

... with his thoughts of course.

Sam can only block what happened the night before for so long before it catches up with him. Just a few fragmented thoughts of how he and Dean were together are enough to send the blood in his veins rushing downstairs, making his face heat up, partly in shame at how the memories turn him on.

The thought of having the privilege of being intimate with Dean revoked (if he faces reality and puts an end to this, as he should) is dark and daunting.

_His head is killing him. _

When his finally stops chasing the racing thoughts of how he and his ended up like _this_ and starts digesting what he got himself into, his mood starts to be choleric, and Sam starts absently taking it on Adam - he's wearing a pained expression, he's distant, impatient, and at one point he finally snaps at his three-year-old. Adam's lips pout sadly, quiver and he starts to cry, then wail, breaking Sam's heart to pieces.

"I'm sorry, so sorry sweetheart," begins Sam, realizing his mistake.

"Mommy hateses Adam," he says between hiccups, his face blotched and teary. Of course Adam thinks he hates him. He's been anything but present for the boy today.

"Never!" Sam says, and kisses his son's red and wet cheeks repeatedly, and hugs him close. "You're my sweetest. I could never."

It's a wake up call, of sorts. And Sam decides he should rest his over-exhausted brain and body and sit down with Adam to watch some cartoons or something, and try to get himself together. So he abandons the task at hand, screw dinner prepping, takes Adam to the living room, and tries to make up with his son by offering some ice cream and some downtime in front of the TV, a suggestion to which Adam is enthusiastic and giddy.

And thankfully, all's forgiven!

Sam still refuses to eat.

A couple of hours later when Adam is napping in the safety of Sam's arms, it all finally sinks in.

What he's doing to his family. What he has done long ago when he sought Dean for comfort, ruining his own son and inspiring forbidden thoughts in him by forcing himself on Dean. Not listening to Cas' warnings about how tied up he is with Dean. And now, cheating on his husband with his own son, allowing himself to have something he should never have.

Sam cannot lie to himself any longer. It was already happening when he allowed Dean to smash through one boundary after another. It was decided the moment Sam let his guard down and allowed himself to enjoy and relish in how Dean was braving new territory, one after another. It happened because Sam let himself get carried away ... until Dean's kisses and hugs and attention became his bread and butter, and until Dean became more important to him than the air he breathes.

He's a bad, needy mother and a worse caretaker, and now he could lose everything if he doesn't backtrack and try to cure Dean of the very thing that he, as a mother, caused due to his own shortcomings and emotional defects.

Sam starts crying, for the umpteenth time, only this week, and as he cries, his chest closes up, not just with guilt towards his family, but with his longing for Dean still, with the realization that he'll end it.

_He loves him_. He's in love with his son. He loves him in ways he cannot count. He loves him in a perverted, twisted way.

And he doesn't want to end this thing between them. _If Dean abandons him altogether, he'll collapse_, he thinks, and hugs Adam closer and cries some more.

He must do it then, Sam decides. When Dean's back, he'll sit down with him, and let him know. He'll tell him it's not his fault, at least not just his fault. He'll ask his son for forgiveness. And he'll be ready to bear the consequences of his deviance - including the possibility that he may never be forgiven. Not by himself at least.

He gets up, Adam still in his arms, and he puts his kid in his room so he'll continue napping, as late as it is in the afternoon for siestas. Sam knows he'll pay the price for this in the form of a grumpy kid, who'll refuse to sleep on time, later in the night. But that's later. He'll deal with it then.

Now, he goes into the restroom to splash his face with some water. After he does, and as he still stands over the sink, tired, and holding onto its edge with both hands, his grip hard, he dares to glance at his reflection in the mirror and he looks like a ghost of himself.

He can't believe that after being so close to something he thought was impossible, an intimacy he never experienced in his life before, a completeness he might not have ever again, he'll let it go ... He can't fathom that after having a taste of something he didn't know he'd always longed for until he had it, that he will be forced to give it up.

He wishes he had never tasted it to begin with.

The tears come. He starts sobbing again, so hard, until he feels his chest is aching and his breaths are coming shorter and shorter. And until he feels he needs something, an anchor, because he's drowning fast. He's suddenly barely clinging to consciousness.

Weary and swaying on his feet, he reaches for his cell phone, wedged in his jeans pocket, removes it and blearily dials Castiel's number.

When his husband finally picks up, Sam only has the energy for muttering a few words before, with a heavy thud, he collapses to the floor.

"Cas. Help me."

Then darkness overtakes him.


End file.
